THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO GRACE:

GNOSTIC HERESY AS NARRATIVE STRATEGY IN MARGARET ATWOOD'S AUAS GRACE

Ryan Edward Miller

B.A., University of British Columbia/ University College of the Cariboo, 1997

THESIS SUBhaTg) Di PARTIAL OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS

in the Department of English

O Ryan Edward Miiier 2000 SIMON FRASER UNZVERSlTY October 2000

Al1 rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by photocopy or other means, without permission of the author. uisitim and Acquisitionrr eî aogiaphii Wis senrices bibliographiques

The author has granteâ a non- L'auteur a accordé une licence non exchisive licence dowing the exclusive permettant à la National Liirary of Canada to BhliothéQue nationale du Canada de reproàuce, loan, distn'bute or seli reproduire, prêter, disnihuer ou copies of this thesis in microfonn, vendre des copies de cette thèse sous papa or electronic fonnats. la forme de micxofiche/film, de reproduction sur papier ou sur format électronique.

The author retains ownership of the L'auteur comme la propriété du copyright in this thesis. Neither the droit d'auteur qui protégc cette thèse. thesis nor substaatial extracts fiom it Ni la thése ni des &ts substantiels may be printed or otùerwise de celle-ci ne doivent être imprimés reproduced without the author's ou autrement reproduits sans son permission. autorisation. ABSTRACT

This thesis approaches Margaret Atwood's 1996 novel Alias Grace with specific attention to the author's use of Gnosticism in the creation of a unique and complex feminist narrative. This is an original topic: one not previously cited in Atwood criticism. A product of history and invention, Alias Grace embodies a speculative approach to fernale crirninality as it was received in the colonies during the early to mid-nineteenth century. Offering her novel as a parodic response to the wild-eyed murderesses of Victorian fiction, Atwood explores Grace's crime and confinement through a lens of Biblical/historical construction,

imagining how an incarcerated woman might respond to those processes, while communicating also the privatization of "self' as conceptualized by Gnostic symbol and

myth. t- Key to the author's strategy are Alias Grace's supporting characters, Mary Whitney

and Jeremiah the peddler. Their initiation of Grace into Gnosticism offers the latter a unique

freedom, but foregrounds what - in terms of nineteenth-century Christianity - was widely

considered heresy. Taught that the only good Father is an absent one, and that taws were

meant to be broken, Grace locates in the "smnge teachings" of Gnosticism a way of refuting

then-contemporaryjudgments of her actions. As amurderess, Atwood's Grace is unlike her

fictional countetparts: she is quietly intelligent and keenly aware of narrative politics. Her

Gnostic re-telling of history - recounted for psychologist Simon Jordan - becomes the

novel's primary means of subversion: a narrative sleight-of-hand by which the principal iv ideology of Gnosticism might be passed ont0 others - but only, we find, to those like Simon who might recognize and accept new doctrines.

Atwood's use of Gnostic myth brilliantiy locates the potential for feminist licence in a historicai crisis of faith. My reading proposes that she is using this understanding of gnosis

- or self-knowledge - as a playful attempt to localize in Grace Marks the alienation and suffering of the divine feminine. Recalling specific doctrines such as the Simonian myth of

Simon and Helen, or the redemption of the Sophia figure, Alias Grace is a profound addition to Atwood's earlier feminist narratives, while offering a pointed comment on the value of history and historical fiction. This project is dedicated to my wonderful farnily, for al1 their love and support.

And to Bob and Deli, for injecting a lighter note. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My gratitude to Professor Sandra Djwa for her guidance and support during the course of this project, and for suggesting 'The Gospel" as a title. My thanks also to

Rofessors David Stouck and Margery Fee, who graciously came aboard to lend assistance; and to Margaret Atwood, for her kind permission to include certain rnaterials. Without hem, there could be no "Grace" under pressure.

To Tracy Wyrnan-Marchand - proof posi tive there are warriors among us - you are, in your kindness and laughter, other-timely.

To Anita Mahoney - whose invaluable technicai assistance dlowed for the creation of a unique research tool - 1thank you.

And thank you, Phyllis. Per tuttu quel10 che mi hai insegnato. vii TABLE OF CONTENTS

Approval ii

Abstrac t iii

Dedication v

Acknowledgments vi

II These Teachings Are Strange Ideas: Reading Mary Whitney

ïü "Jererniah, Blow the Fire": Raising the Divine Spark in Alias Grace

IV Failing the Gnosis Test: Simon Jordan and the Gnostic Potential

V The Gospel According to Grace

VI Conclusion (Thrice-Cmed Waters)

Notes

Works Cited

Works Consulted 1

Becoming: An Introduction 2

T you're after the tmth, the whole and detailed tmth, and nothing but the truth, you're going to have a thin time of it if you trust to paper; but with the past, it's almost al1 you've got" (Atwood, "in Searc h of Alias Grace" 1514). Thus began the construction of

Alias Grace (1996), Margaret Atwood's ninth and, arguably, her most ambitious novel to- date. Based on the 1843 murciers of a gentleman and his housekeeper in rural Ontario,

Atwood's foray into criminal representations of the nineteenth century began as an exercise in social and cultural anthmpology -"the digging up of bwied things," she says (1509) - which for Grace Marks rneant resurrecting some of Canada's long-forgotten history.

"What's on [ail that] paper?," she inquires. "The same things that are on paper now.

Records, documents, newspaper stories, eyewimess reports, gossip and rumor and opinion andcontradiction [. ..] [ultimately] no more reason to trust something written down on paper then than there is now" (1513). To negotiate a space for herself, then, and "to be fair [. ..! to represent al1 points of view," she devised a series of guidelines by which she would view her writing; in part, stating that "when there was a solid fact, 1couId not alter it [. . .] [blut in the part left unexplained - the gaps left unfilled - I was free to invent" (adding later that

"since there were a lot of gaps, there is [also] a lot of invention") (1515). In and of itself, such an approach is not an uncommon practice in historicai narratives. Instead, it is

Atwood's admission of a fiction equal to, or greater than, the novel's use of history that directs our attention here, inviting an examination not so much of how Alias Grace elicits

Canada's past, but rather, what is occuning adjacenr to it.

Atwood has certainly led us to this boundary before. In The Joumals of Susanna

Moodie (1970), for example, she documents the immigrant experience of the real Susanna 3

Moodie as first introduced in Roughing it in the Bush (1852). but heightens Moodie's cautionary tale with a new sensibiiity or aesthetic; in that case, using the typically historical act of journal writing as a vehicle hmwhich to project the uncertainties and fears of

Northrop Frye's "ganison mentality."' The fiandmaid's Tale (1986) is a good example of this also, using its "historical notes" as parody: disseminating "historicai" knowledge of the fictive Gilead in convincingly real tenns. For her retum to the nineteenth century in Alias

Grace, Atwood shows herself to be less tongue-in-cheek, but still willing to play into those earlier anxieties. Bringing together discussions of criminality, religious heresy, and mental

illness, she imagines through Grace's eyes an unforgiving world of crime and punishment;

of propriety and hypocrisy; and - most importantly here - of holism and disembodiment.

What separates the novel most visibly fiom earlier endeavors, however, is that its use of

fiction does not embroider or complement what is historically well-documented, as it does

in The Journals. hstead, it seeks to bridge those questions for which the past has exhibited

an absence of definitive knowledge - drawing explmations of the fantastic to account for

what are otherwise unknowable miths.

Centrai to this is the characterof Grace Marks. Public opinion may have divided her,

but out of that process one thing becme clear: "people began writing about her," Atwood

tells us, "projecting ont0 her dl of the received opinions of wornen, about criminality, about

servants, about insanity, sexuality f. . .]. So 1 was interested in that [. . .] in the process of

public opinion and how it's fonned [. . .] how each person, even people who are witnesses,

have their own version (Atwood, 'WaturaI Born QuiIm"). Given her awareness, then, that

those around Grace were themeives fictionalizing, it cornes as little surprise that her novel 4 should offer its own model. Recaiiing Linda Hutcheon's views of The Canudian

Postnrodem and"historiographic metafiction," Atwood's strategy hereis a familiaremphasis of process over product. Exploring less the question of Grace's innocence or guilt and more the social machinations that have rendered her a murderess, the novel complicates its own ontology by asking - as Hutcheon does - "what exactly can be said to constitute fact and fiction - life and art?" (68).

Atwood's use of artistic strategies inforrns the difficulties she and others have found when attempting to offer an accurate reflection of the past. Writing Grace's narrative has become, then, a process reliant upon the author's use of historiography, biopphy, and

"novels set in the historic past" to achieve some sense of postrno&rn imrnediacy. We could attribute this -as she does - to the contradictions and omissions inherent to Grace's story; for "the writers-down," Atwoodexplains, "[. ..] were human beings, [and like anyone they are] subject to error, intentional or not, and to the very human desire to magnify a scandal, and to theirown biases" ("In Search ofAlias Grace" 1514). Or, we might find within those limitations the "gaps" she mentions earlier; that is, a novelist's opportunity for invention, for response. At issue here are questions of - as i've said - life and art, but also of representation and, more visibly, of textual and historicai authority. For her part, the Grace we find in the novel is dso cognisant of these issues: "1 think of ail the things thiit have ken written down about me," she confides, "[. . .] and 1 wonder, how can 1 be ai1 of these different things at once?" (Alias Grace 23). And so, while trying to provide an answer to the question 'Who is Grace Marks?" Atwood reminds us of the individuai's dein the production of that text.' By inverting that structure - by offering a space in which Grace 5 herselfmight respond - she unfolds in Alias Grace a novel which, in the guise of trying to prevent us from knowing something, actually tells us something else. And perhaps we should not be surprised. For "whatever else she is," the author reassures, "[my Grace] is a storyteller with strong motives to narrate but aiso strong motives to withhold; [and ultimately,] the only power left to her as a convicted and imprisoned criminai comes from a blend of these two motives" ('ln Search of Alias Grace" 1515).

It is within this nexus, 1shall argue later, that the true interest of the novel lies.

For now 1 turn to recent attention given to Alias Grace in American Historical

Review; and in particular, to an article written by Jonathan D. Spence in response to Margaret

Atwood's essay "In Search of Alias race."^ Challengi ng her methodologies for their omission of a defined perimeter between author and historian, Spence broaches what 1 believe to be an important consideration when first approaching the novel; namely, the question of who reserves the authority to write about the pst and, moreover, what stories should be told. "[. ..] mn and of itsetf," Atwood might remind us, the past "tells us nothing.

We have to be listening, first, More it will say a word, and, even so, listening means telling, and then re-telling" (1515-6). Such things may be me; in practice, however, their application is less concrete. Spence, for instance, is guarded towards such generalizations.

"Like Atwood," he explains, "1 am drawn into the act of wrïting by my absorption with '[.

.-1 individuai characters interacting with, and king actedupon by, the world that surrounds hem'." And yet, "[. ,.J where, then, are the cnicial differences in what we do?'he eks

(1523). "Paaly," he decides, [. . .] they lie in the zones of freedom that we allow ourselves. Atwood is precise about the three guidelines she followed in composing Alias Grace: first, "[. . .] when there was a solid fact," she could not alter it; second, "every major element in the book had to be suggested by something in the writing about Grace and her tirnes, however dubious such writing might be"; third, "in the parts left unexplaineci - the gaps left unfilled - [shej was free to invent." It is with this list of guidelines that a historian like myself, deeply drawn to herother arguments, starts to separate himself out from the overlays between a novelist' s sensibilities and a novelist's procedures.

And yet one wonders if this separation is tnily possible, or important. Hayden White infonns us that nmtivizing history - regardless of profession - is rooted in a larger desire to participate in "that finding of the 'true story,' that discovery of the 'real story' within or behind the events that corne to us in the chaotic form of 'historical records"' (White 276).

Hutcheon's Canadian Posmodem, dso, is useful in bringing to light the "shared,

'emplotting,' stmtegies of exclusion, emphasis, and subordination" practiced by both novelists and historians (66). Unless the latter choose to utilize a mode of historicai representation that is non-nanative in form (White suggests here "the annals, the chronicles, or the history proper"), he or she is destined to engage in the sarne practice in which Atwood is engaged: storytelling. And so, when Spence asserts that "the historian knows that much tirne is spent trying to determine whether or not something is 'solid fact,"' just as the histocian "is [also] not 'free to invent' whenever he or she finds gaps left unfilled," informed readers will recognize that he negates his own involvement in that pmess?

Such issues are likely not lost on Atwood, even if the novel itself reveais a Iesser concem about making those distinctions. For al1 its transgressions, her means of assembIing the past does not forsake what Hutcheon might caii the novel's "essentially Literary nature"

(68), nor does it treat historical approaches more vigilant than her own Lightly. hstead, one 7 begins to wonder if this is txuly the point: that a narrative, regardless of origin or whatever authority we may place upon it, is still a narrative: a construction - influenced as much by its author as it is by the social influences through which he or she is working. Given her familiarity with the genre, it is reasonable to assume that Atwood is aware of this; and indeed, others such as Lynn Hunt question "whether this [distinction of profession] is really the vital issue for those who write history [. . .]. She [Atwood] takes more or less for granted the difference between history and fiction [. . .] and so, 1will argue, should historians" (Hunt

1517). For the purposes of this thesis, then, 1am concerned less with the implications of

Atwood's methodologies, and more with what is occurring with the novel's complication of boundaries: on one hand, the blurring of the fictive and historical with respect to Grace

Marks's "history"; and secondly, the valorization -andconversely, the Victorians' rejection

- of "private" versus public literatures. While history is inextricably united to those discussions, Alias Grace serves a pater analysis of how the historic past can dford opponunities of a subversive nature; and similady, how a work seemingly emphasizing the authenticity of the "pnvate" can, Iike Hutcheon's "historiographic metafiction," prove itself

"intensely, self-reflexively art, but [. . .] grounded [dso] in historicai, social, and political realities" (Hutcheon 13).

It is useful, then, when first appmaching the subject of historicai fiction to consider

Judith Knelman's reminder that embedding fictional elements within a historicai context

results in what is merely "the effect of history" (Knelman, Tan We Believe..." 685) - that

is, itfeels historical to the reader w hen much of it is actually the product of careful invention

(or, as Gabrielle Spiegel points out, index of sociaiiy consrniable meaning rather than an image of reality"). When we look to Alias Grace, we see the historical novel, but we see also Atwood's parodic use of the genre. Like Famous hst Words by Timothy Findley, or

Rudy Wiebe's Tlie Temptations of Big Beur, she complicates the line between fact and fiction - essentially, questioning historicai "fact" - by utilizing both real and invented characters, and ailowing the words of those invented persons to bear equd weight to the novel's historical counterparts. The result is a historical novel which appears, by its seerning defiance of that authority, ahistorical. And perhaps this too is the point. "But," Atwood interrupts to ask, "what exactly do we mean by 'historicai novel'?"

Al1 novels are in a sense 'historical' novels; they can't help it, insofar as they have to, they must, make reference to a time that is not the time in which the reader is reading the book. But there is the past tense - yesterday and yesterday and yesterday, full of tooth flossing and putting antifreeze into the car, a yesterday not so long ago - and then there is The Put, capital T and P [. . .]. motdl [authors] use the pas&for the same purposes. Of course not; the authors of [history] are individuais, and each novel has its own preoccupations. Some attempt to give moresr-less faithful accounts of actual events, in answer perhaps to such questions as "Where did we come from and how did we get here?" Some attempt restitution of a sort, or at least an acknowledgment of past wrongs [. . .]. Yet others unearth a past as it was lived by women, under conditions a good deai more stringent than out own. ("InSearch of Alias Grace" 15 10).

And this, it seems, is exactly what Alias Grace attempts to do: to elicit a history that has been forgotten, or lost; or perhaps even buried (buried things king more prefenble to write about, of course, than merely forgotten ones). Granted, the approach Atwood takes toward her subject here connotes a certain playfulness, but ultimately she is sewing the novel's more serious undertones: specifically, the processes by which histories are assembled or written; how each of those texts speaks to the other, and which stories among them are most likely to be lost in the process. 9

Exploring the life of the real Grace Marks hmthe time of her emigration to Canada in the 1830s until her release in 1872 from the Kingston Penitentiary, we are reminded by the author's dealings with "gossip and rumor and opinion and contradiction" that achieving a sense of wholeness in historicai narratives is a nebulous process. 'The fullness of Grace

is the point," Atwood tells us ("Natural Born Quilter"); but as a reader, what is Alias Grace 's

position here? 1s it history, for history? Or is hem a novel like any other, only set amongst

the Victorians? Admittedly, the author's backward gaze is initially misleading: herentrance

to the subject suggests a curiosity typically expected from a novelist such as herself, and yet

the novel's approach to Gnce's Iife - while anthropological in nature - furthers a line of

parodic interplay between the author's presentation of life and art, history and fiction. The

suggestion is, of course, that the endeavors pursued by novelists and historians are successful

because, ultimately, they owe their constructions to the same family of processes. However,

we see something else too: in Atwood's world, history can become fiction, And fiction, she

might argue, can be the art of history.

One thing of which most would agree when approaching Alias Grace is that Grace

Marks herself is not the obvious subject of historicai fiction, primarily because-as I've said

- there is littie available history hmwhich to draw. What is there, however, tells us that

Grace Marks was a murderess; that she was celebrated for her infamy and, depending on

whose account you believe, got what she deserved. In many ways she is Atwood's Lizzie

Borden. Her appeal stems not so much from the reflection she offers of sociai climate, but

from the idea that she upset Victorian ideds of the feminine to participate in a grotesque

crime. Who exactly Grace Marks was - particularly as a servant girl among the Victorian 10 upper class - has neverbeen much of a consideration. Initially, such distinctions might seem unimportant; yet, "[. ..] whoever tells you that history is not about individuais, only about large trends and movements,"Atwood reminds us, "is lying" ("InSearch of Alias Grace"

1505). To explore those omissions, then, is to give voice to the voiceless: to explore why memory ailows for the preservation of some things while excluding others. Historicaily,

Grace' s account of the murders - however truthful or untruthful it might have ken - proved of lesser consequence than the perceptions that were drawn of ber.' And this is a crucial awareness in the novel: not that she was "innucent" or "guilty," but that the history she embodied was discounted in favor of more sensationdized (orthodox) representations. To present that process as an opposition of canonicities in Alias Grace is, therefore, to remind

us of the stories that are not included. And perhaps rightly so. Tales such as Grace's, the

author would argue, are ultimately not about "this or that slice of the past [. . .] [but are]

about human nature [. . .] about truth and lies, disguises and revelations [. . .]. [They are]

about long suffering and charity [. ..] sin and retribution, and sometimes even redemption"

(1516).

With an eye to some of these issues, then, Margaret Atwood's interest in Grace Marks

seems two-fold: on one hand, the atiraction of the Kinnear-Montgomery murders (and

Grace's subsequent infamy) is formidable. Encompassing the familiars of gender, class, and

identity - each of which stood in staric opposition to the Victorian ideal - the infamy of

Grace Marks is, and has been, fertile ground for Atwood. Having wcitten of Grace

previously in the 1974 teleplay "Gram Marks" (broadcast as The Servant Girl for the

Canadian Bmadcasting Corporation),andagain in 1979in an unproducedstage play entitled, 11 simply, "Cime," Alias Grace marks the author's third pass at her subject, yet is also perhaps her best opprtunity to address the social realities thereh6 Allied with this, however, is a secondary interest: arguably, an opportunity for the author to comct herself: to re-position her portraya1 of Grace given a matured understanding of the circumstances by which her subject was defir~ed.~Recalling her initial dependence on Moodie's L$e in the Cleurings

(1853) for information about the case - a narrative in which Moodie's Gram appem as a raving madwoman - Atwood cemarks: "[t] hat was the first version of the story [came across and, king Young, and still believing that 'non-fiction' meant 'me,' 1did not question it"

(1513). Not supisingly, those early poctrayals c1osely follow Moodie's version, and from

dl appemces, Atwood herself seemed to ernbrace them. Yet, "[. + .] [i]t aiways bothered me that the story Moodie toId was so theatrical," she confides. "ït made you wonder: could it really have been like that?" (Atwood, Interview). When contemplating the direction Alias

Gruce should take, then - when exploring what else might have becn occurring to influence the outcome- Margaret Atwood did what, until then, she had not done: she returned to the

Pt.

What she found there surprised even hm, Susanna Mwdie had been writing the case

from memory, and "[. ..] iis it tums out," Atwood says, "~oodie's]memory was no better

than most. She got the location wrong, and the names of some of the participants, just for

starters. Not only that, the actual story was much more problematic, though less neatly

ciramatic, than the one Moodie told" ("In Search of Alias Grace" 1514). In the Afienvord

to the novel ah,and again at the StratfdFestival in September 1997, Atwood goes further

to explain why that early account is now suspect: Moodie's retelling of the murder is a W-hand account. In it, she identifies Grace as the prime mover, driven by love for Thomas Kinnear and jealousy of Nancy, and using the promise of sexual favors to egg McDermott on [. ..]. Moodie can't resist the potential for literary melodrama, and the cutting of Nancy's body into four quarters is not only pure invention, but pure Hanison Ainsworth? (Afierword, Alias Grace 464)

on real life] James McDennott declared that Grace had helped him strangle Nancy, and [that she] was the instigator of the whole affair. Although he was a known liar, his is the version Moodie chose to believe. Why? Partly because it makes Grace o stronger and more fascinating character. If she was just a termrized victim -as she herself claimed- there's a lot less of her fordramatic purposes, which include blood, guilt, haunting, and madness as God's vengeance, Greek tragedy, Macbeth, and much Victorian melodrama [. . .], [And, regarding Nancy's eyes, of whom Grace was supposedly haunted:] This is MyMacBethland, complete with visual hallucinations. It's also Charles Dickens, who was much influenced by the theater of his day. The glaring, haunting eyes ominously close to those of the murdered Nancy in Oliver Twist [. . .]. It's noteworthy that Dickens was one of Susanna Moodie's favorite authors, and that Moodie is the only cornmentator who calls Nancy "Hannah." Could it be that she herself was aware of the resemblance between the two Nancys, and chringed that name to deflect attention away from it?' (Atwood, "Ophelia Has a Lot to Answer For")

Using Alias Grace as a point from which to distance herself, then - both from Moodie's account of Grace and from her own early characterizations - Margaret Atwood shifts the emphasis of the novel toward the aspects of Grace's character that we don 't know: that is,

how awful the truth might be. in doing so, she embraces an ambiguity that many of Grace's

real-life commentaton tried to avoid, recognizing that if murderess is a label attributable to

"the received opinions of women," it is aIso the reception of what Karlene Faith tems the

"unruly ~ornan."'~And it is here, in this awareness of nineteenth-century criminal reception,

that the novei's approach to Grace Marks fin& its mots.

I use Karlene Faith's Unnrly Wumen as a place to begin here, as it is one of few

ment works to displace notions of "deviancy" and contextualize fernale criminality as the 13 transgression of social order. Chronicling in part the nineteenth-century's connections between female misçonduct and the moral distinctions applied to prostitutes, adulterers, and ail others who threatened the family unit, Faith's tome effectively restates the sexuai and moral ambiguity felt toward women dunng this period." Indeed, it is the violated ideai, and not a specific illegality, which grounds us here. "When apprehended for crossing the boundaries of legdity," she writes, "[the 'unruly woman'] is punished as much for her betrayal of Womanhood as for her witting or unwitting failure to submit to The Law" (2).

Atwood traces this also, noting that "[. . .] usually [. . .] when there's a violent crime involving both a man and a woman [. . .] opinion is undivided about the man - he dunnit - and divided about the woman" (Atwood, "Natural Born Quilter"). Because the "unnily woman" is judged dually, both for her actions as acnminal and for her betrayal of the culture in which she lived, it is not surprising when the crime of the femaie offender assumes a lesser, even periphed, role in the procession toward justice.

Alias Grace reflects this also: the emphasis shifts away from the murders of Thomas

Kinnear and Nancy Montgomery and toward the challenge of ascertaining Grace's chiuacter.

Atwood does not make this easy: the Grace she imagines is reluctant to reveai too much of herseif: "you should be careful about saying what you want or even wanting anything," she says, "as you may be punished for it" (Alias Grace 98). Atwood concentrates on what is happening around Grace; and indeed, iike the Old Maid's Puzzle quilt, it is through this assembly of pieces that we lem what it is that she seems to desire. Preceding this recognition, however, the author's attempt to juxtapose Grace - an "urinily woman" herself - with the novel's more prominent arc hetypes of Victorian fernininity rerninds us that

two things told very rnuch against Grace [. . .] [first,] she was found at an inn with a man - and if you've read 'The Mill on the Floss," you know that is aimost automaticaily a fallen woman [. . .]." Number two, she wore Nancy's dress to the trial[. . .] [a decision which] told very much against her and produced a sensation in the courtroorn. ("Blood and Laundry")

Onecouldconcede that the above reaction is in part attributable to the disparities that existeci between social classes: the idea of Griice Marks, the servant, cising up to kill her employer would have been abhorred by those of middle-class standing or higher, presumably out of

fear that the same might happen to them. And yet, the above passage speaks volumes as to the deof women as well. Atwood is, of course, well-practiced in the art of representation

here (The Handmaid's Tale's "Unwomm" comes to mind, as does the consumption of

Marian-cake in The Edible Woman). As with many of her novels, protagonists such as Grace

serve as key figures in a continuing feminist mythology.

For Alias Grace, Margaret Atwood extends this further, playing into more gothic

sensibilities: truths that can no longer be cornfortably deduced using reason. What seems to

concern her most, however, is the upset of moral order in the Victorian world: complicating

popularconceptions of "right" and "wrong,"or "good" and b'evil." Such a move is befitting

of her subject; for "[m]urder by a womm was so unthinkable in the paharchal ideology of

Victorian England," Judith Knelman writes, "that it had to be explained away as the action

of a whore, witch, monster, or madwoman" (Twisting in the Wind 230). NaturaiIy, Atwood

takes advantage ofthis; in part, because it makes Grace a more interesting character, but also

because it conveys an intelligence denied to her in the historical records. There comes a 15 moment early in the novel when Grace is cantemplating rhe public's interest in her that she muses: "they don? care if I killed anyone, 1coutd have cut doms of throats [. ..], No: was

Ireally a paramout; is heirchief concem, andthey don't even know themselves whether they want the answer to be no or yes" (Alias Crace 27). While Atwood gives us some indication here as tu social curiosities or the reception of fernale criminality, to look further into what was oçcuning during this period is to recognize that the public's infatuation with the murderefs ran fu deeper.

Grace's knowledge of the term is that "[. . .] it is a smng word to have attiiched to you. [t has a smell to it [. . .1 musky and oppressive" (23). Not surprisingly, the murderess of Alias Gmce assumes the figure of an apocalyptic bride: a shadow who is both passionate and nithless; md to whom men like Simon Jordan find themselves inexplicably drawn (even

when women of "purer" standing - such as the virginal Faith Cartwright - are readily

available). Initially, Simon's desires may seem out of place here, yet Atwood is merely

giving a nod to what was occuning in the literature of the time. While the early nineteenth

century brought with it the advent of the tme crime novel, it was Charles Dickens and Wilkie

Collins, among others, who were instrumental toward positioning the murderess in

contempnry nineteenthçentury fiction. Their sensation novels - often inspired by actual

cases -were such that "[. ..j murder by women became an expression of sexuality, broke the

stereotype of the 'angel in the house,' [and] present[ed] the murderess as attractive, exotic,

and passionate" (Krielman, TwisriBg h the Wind 30-1). Atwood's knowledge of these

authors and their works certainly bears some influence here. Working through the

AngeWhore dichotomy, her positioning of Coventry Patmore's The Angel in the Horise 16 alongside the real Grace's confession in her introduction to "The Letter X' suggests a concerted effort toward collapsing those earlier stereotypes (Alias Grace 328)- Indeed, this is her tnie crime novel; and working within that genre, she seems intent on reiterating the central question sumunding the case: narnely, "[. . .] was Grace a femaie fiend and temptress, the instigator of the crime [. . .] or was she an unwilling victim, forced to keep silent by [James] McDetmott's threats and by fear for her own tife" (463). Certainly,

Atwood knows that the ambiguity of McDennott's andGrace's relationship, and the seeming

un-answerability of the question itself, accounts for much of the tale's allure. Moreover,

given the wake of the Paul Bemardo and Karla Homolka trials in Ontario during the early

1990s - the period during which Alias Grace was conceived - it is likely that such a

relationship wouid have ken on her mind." We retum, then, to the question of aiiases: who

is the rdGrace Marks? The novel recognizes that answenng this is difficult. "[Slhe is a

different person," Atwood allows, "[. . .] more ambiguous than the original character that 1

wrote, of course" ("Bload and Laundry"). And so, given my ear1ier promise - that within

the nexus of Grace's storyteiling lies the true interest for the novel- it is here that 1 begin

that discussion.

My thesis examines Margaret Atwood's use of Gnosticism in Alias Grace, with an

eye to the agency it gmts both author and character in the creation of a unique and complex

feminist narrative. Initially, the novel does not suggest this at dl: the Kinnear-Montgomery

murders and the Heof Grace Marks do not, historically, have anycannection to Gnosticism,

nor is its presence in the novel made overt. Nonetheless, the readet is conscious throughout

the novel of rechng threads of religious symbolism which, while seemingly orthodox in some instances - such as the frequent references to the 'Trinity" - lend themselves to very

ünorthodox conclusions in others. Leading the reader here are two things: first, the novel's use of water and dreams to imply some fom of Gnostic chaos or hell (Alias Grace 139-40,

194-5); and secondly, the implicit ties Atwood draws between the spirit and self-knowledge:

Grace's awareness of "[. . .] king tom open; not like a body of flesh, [. ..] but like a peach,

[. . .] too ripe and splitting open of its own accord" (69). ültimately, to understand the carefully stmctured relationships between the novel's invented characters - and the significance of Grace's final 'Tree of Paradise" design -an understanding of Gnosticism is essential. Atwood has, of course, played with other myths before: Sriflacing and Lady

Oracle are good examples." Simply put, this is what she does. And so, using close reading and historicaUtextud investigation as my primary method, I wish to explore this idea further as it relates to Gnosticism; and in doing so, draw upon various gender, psychological, or narratologicai discussions which - dthough done so loosely -rnight be taken as a theoretical approach here.

To begin my analysis, then, it is important for me to emphasize that Gnostic studies are by no means static. indeed, Stefan Rossbach tells us in Gnostic Wars that even the definition of the term itself remains incontenti~n.'~For the purposes of this thesis, however,

1 must make some alIowances for clarity. And so, if 1 am to choose a working - aibeit tentative - explanation of Gnosticism to aid my discussion, it would be this:

Gnosis [self-knowledge] promotes the soul, in its self-understanding, to an absolute position high above the un-reality of cosmic ignorance and suffering. From this outpost, the world must indeed appear as a totality, a bbsystern."Through gnosis the actual experience of dienation is transformed into the "distance" required to be able to observe the cosmos hmoutside. The moral signincance of this transformation, however, lies in the absoluteness of the bundmies which it mates between human beings. For if gnosis elevates the sou1 above the cosmos [. ..] the unbridgeable gap which the classical thinkers perceived between the human and divine realms mutates into a gap between those with gnosis and those without. (Rossbach 230)

A second discussion of Gnosticism is also useful here in that it facilitates the introduction of this subject. 1am referring here to Etsuko Taketani who, in his discussion of Gnosticism, tells us that:

Gnosticism postulates two origins, two Fathers, for the genealogy of the human race. Gnosticism argues that, although the inferior body was created by Jehovah (the Demiurge), man's innermost Self is related to the Unknown God (Forefather) who exists beyond the visible world created by the inferior God, The spiritual core of man has a kinship with the highest, eternal and unbegotten God beyond. It is adivine seed deriving from the Forefather. (Taketani) in addition to the primacy granted by the Gnostic endeavor, a Gnostic ce-telling of history in Alias Grace dlows for Atwood's complication of boundaries; among them, the distinction between "public" and "private"; "fact" and "fiction"; and more visibly here, between

"gospel" and "heresy." Of the more useful examples with which 1rnight begin is the novel's positioning of the tale "Susannah and the Elders," at the point in which Grace enters the household of Thomas Kinnear and Nancy Montgomery at Richmond Hill. In "Susmnah," the stress is on sexual sin. The older men desired Susannah and gave false testimony against her. However, because of the inconsistencies in those accounts, she is exonerated. Not only are there parailels between the nvo tales - in the sense that Grace rnay (or may not) be an innocent when she marries - but its presence also highlights in Biblical construction an extended metaphor for the dual processes of incIusion/exclusion that define Grace as well.

When informeci by Thomas Kinnear thac "Susannah" belongs to the Apocrypha - stories decided, by men, not to be included in the Bible - Grace remarks: bbWhodecided? [. 19

..] 1was most astonished to hear this. I'd aiways thought that the Bible was written by God, as it was called the Word of God, and everyone terdit so" (Alias Gmce 222). Yet, when one considers the tale itself - how a young woman is faIsely accused by her male pers oi having sinned - we receive our first indication of the connections Atwood intends between

Grace's ideology and the consmction of Christian dogrna. Grace's decision that %e Bible may have ken thought out by God, but it was written down by men. And like everything men write down, such as the newspapers, they got the main story right but some of the details wrong" reveds, among other things, a maturing awareness of the patriarchy's roie with respect to narrative constmction. Her choice to communicate those experiences through

Gnostic symbol and myth - specificaliy, those from Orphic and Valentinian schools - finds herat once owing to the same language of signifiers, but doing so in mmner that foregrounds and, ultimately, embraces the roIe of women observed outside BiblicaVhistoricaI canons.16

At first glance, Atwood's choice of structure here could be seen as a continuation of

Northrop Frye's "U-shaped narrative," and to some degree, it is. Characterized by its "[. .

.] descent into disaster and bondage, which in turn is followed by repentance, then by a rise through deliverance more or less on the level fmrn which the descent began," Grace's story closely follows the rises and falls experienced by a number of Bibiical characters (Fcye, The

Great Code 169). And yet, the introduction of Gnosticism brings an additional element to the text: a lirnind - and specificaiiy, a non-canonical - imagination that is, on one hand, more female-orienteci; but is aIso - as I'U explain Iater - powerfully subversive in the ease with which it foregrounds the heresy of "private," self-contemplative literatures. It is interesting to note as 1begin here that a sidar connection between nineteenth- century thought and Gnosticisrn can be found in the aforementionedEtsukoTaketani's 1994 article "Moby Dick A Gnostic Rewriting of History." Forged from those same concerns, the author provides acontext forthis subject, expounding on thecrisis of faith that was emerging in the United States around the time of the Kinnear-Montgomery murders - a movement

Atwood also alludes to with her inclusion of the Jeremiah the peddlercharacter. Of Moby

Dick in particuliu; however, Taketani observes that

Melville's Gnosticism [. . .] is not so much a product of persona1 curiosity as it is of American culture's mid-nineteenth century anxieties about the status of Biblicai Scnptures. The text of Moby Dick not only reflects the debate over the relation between history, narration, and authority, but contributes its own two-cents to the question. (Taketani 119)

Naturally, 1 ask: is Atwood following Melville's lead here? it would seem so. She is

certainly familiar with Melville iuid Moby Dick. Another link perhaps is that he wrote for

Susanna Mode's longtime publisher, Richard Bentley. Indeed, one couldeven Say Moodie

herself bears a certain role here. Her penchant for embracing new spiritualisms - a trait

cataiogued extensively by John Thuston in 'The Casket of Truih"" - is, it seems, the

inspiration behind some of Grace's own predispositions (her account of the voyage to

Canada closely resembles Moodie's own in Rougliing Ir in the Bush). Like Moodie,

Atwood's Grace fin& herself exploring faith in terms of what suits her own spiritual needs

at that moment, Her departure hmorthodox Christianity is suggested early the novel,

marked by a reiilization that "[i]t is shocking how many crimes the Bible contains" (Alias

Grace 27). Weseemingiy a passing comment, the manifestation of its later consequences

calls our attention to the same issues that inform Taketani's discussion as weîi: particularly, the complications that arise -and the creative possibilities opened - when the authority of historical narntives, scriptural or othenvise, is questioned.

Taketani tells us that Gnosticism, for al1 its intrigue, did not seep into the Amencan consciousness out of public cunosity orinterest; but rather, arose specificallyout of the issue of Scriptural authonty; or, as he puts it, "the authority of Christianity as history." It is interesting that the debate itself crested within a year or two of the Kinnear-Montgomery murciers; and so, as with other things, Atwood likely preswned this would have been on the minds of the novel's participants. Through Grace -and more importatly, through Jeremiah, who helps to initiate the former into this knowledge - Atwood brings some of those same debates into a larger forum in her novel. The suggestion, we find, is that the sarne forces which shaped the Bible as historical "text" iue those which continue to shape our own

Canadian "gospel," particularly with respect to the placement of women within those histories. For his part, Taketani outlines some of the more interesting cornments with respec: to the argument as it originally unfolded in the United States; and, in addition to some of the conclusions that were reached, he notes that:

in reviewing Andrew Norton's The Evidences of the Genuineness of the Gospels (1844), the North Amencan Review (July 1844) remarked "Looking only at the character of the events narrated, the history in the Gospels may be only a skiilfuiiy- contrived romance" (151). Indeed, when it cornes to the relation of history to romance as narrative, real distinction quickly faded from view. The journal observes, "If we [. . .] look only at the face of the nmtive, Robinson Cmsoe appears as me a story as Cook's Voyages,and Richardson, the novelist, is as faithful a historia as Hume" (150). The narrative itself, then, has no weight whatsoever" in determining the difference between history and romance.

The question of the relation between history and romance was probably as interesting an issue in the nineteenth century as it is today. 'Tf the gospel narrative is merely a cunningly devised fable or myth," the [North Amencun Review] said, "then we rnay give up history, and throw al1 such works as the one before us now into the fire." Losing the gospel narrative was tantamount to losing the whole concept of "history" itself. (2)

W,we begin to get a sense of the reasoning behind the connections Atwood is making between Gnosticism and historical fiction. The questions are the same: if Grace can think of the gospel in terms of a construction, so too might the idea of "history" lose importance: the auihority andconsequence associated with Biblical narratives would be diminished; and similarly, that narrative would suddenly be open for revision. Just as Taketani reads

Melville's Ahab in Moby Dick as an attempt by the former to historicize the Gnostic myth of Creation, so tw does Atwood's Gnce seem to have the same objective in mind, transmitting experiences that are, by definition, historical, and re-positioning them as a comparable, even superior, myth to the patriarchai forces which have defined her. Like the experiences of her apocryphal counterpart "Susannah," Grace intends to demonstrate that her actions, whether meor not, are ultimately no better or no worse than what can be found in

Scripture; and moreover, that this mythic expression is certainly betterthan the contemporary narratives of the time - such as the newspapers - which continue to misrepresent her.

Atwood was likely attracted to the idea of a Gnostic, or apocryphal, Grace Marks while doing her research for the novel, even hinting as much in her use of the Warden's daybook from the Kingston Penitentiary. Her use of his comment that "[tlhe convict Grace

Marks has been guilty of a double or may 1 Say (Bible) Murder" seems to preface an awareness of biblical parallels that ultimately proves to be Alias GraceS greatest submWty(A1ias Grace 418). Given SusannaMoodie's comment also- that the real Grace

Marks "[. ..] looks iike aperson rather above her humble station" (19) -could Atwood have 23 presumed this to imply a superiority of hidden origin? Whatever the case, it is our knowledge of Grace's life, as defined by her own narration, which proves central to the novel's strategy; particularly when one considers that much of those beliefs would certainly be &emed "heresy" by her detnctors. In this respect, Grace Marks becomes Atwood's trickster heroine: deceiving - or rather, fmling - those around her in an attempt to Save herself and to eventually declare herown autonomy. As an audience, we recognize that both author and protagonist areengaged in some very clever maneuvers: much like Scheherazade,

Atwood's Grace is, at once, eager to tell stories -as she does with Simon -but elsewhere, seems to enjoy subverting what Susanna Moodie and her contemporaries once said of her in favor of what she, in turn, mighc potentially be withholding from them.

Aside from the garne itself, Atwood's use of Gnosticism in Alias Grace allows the author to miike some ratherunique connections. First is the comment that Gnosticism allows on the nature of history and the celiability of memory. Second is that the Gnostic message itself - the idea that sdvation cm be found by turning inward - makes roorn for a variety of additional discussions as well: among them, June Singer's visible and invisible worlds, RD.

Laing's embodied versus unembodied self, and C.G. Jung's portrayaIs of the unconscious.

By trying to encapsulate these and other perspectives within the narrative body, we are not surprised to find Atwood's knowledge of these areas appearing in well-psitioned and often humorous forms in the novel. We are given, for instance, Alias Grace's fictive psychologist,

Dr. Simon Jordan, whom Atwood intends to "represent the other side of the Victocian attitude toward rnadness - ndthe popular, Ophelia-like image, but the body of medical, scientific opinion on the subject" ("Ophelia Has a Lot to Answer Foi'). There is Susanna 24 Moodie as well, resurrected - if peripheraiiy - for her jomalistic and dramatic embellishments. Nancy Montgomery and Thomas Kinnear inform a greater Biblicai awareness (just as James McDermott does not). And then there is Mrs. Quennel, who would

seem to be included in Alias Grace to reflect a growing fascination with mesmerism and the

supernatural during the mid-nineteenth century. The Governor's wife seems intended to

represent the (female) public's insatiable lust for murder and the grotesque. And finally,

Atwood's inclusion of the Reverend Vemnger reaffirms the clergy's unwavering - though

potentially fwlish - belief in the gdness of Grace.

For the remainder of this thesis, 1 discuss Atwood's use of Gnosticism in pater

detail, paying specific attention to her development of a coherent Gnostic myth for each of

the novel's invented characters. Looking first at Mary Whitney and Jeremiah the peddler,

[explore the position these two characters hold as teachers in the novel: the two who provide

Grace with the knowledge by which she successfully reinterprets her this-worldly-

perspective. Mary, in phcular, is key hete. Recailing the Mary commonly known to the

Gnostics, her presence is intrinsic to Grace's recognition of new possibilities for the role of

women in a patriarchai society: a recognition which leads Grace to the construction of an

alternative tnnity that best suits her revised views and opinions. Jeremiah too is important

here. A traveling salesman and self-pniclaimed preacher-one who has recently been in the

United States - he represents a geographichistoricai transmission of ideas, and the character

by whom Grace's already-unoahodox views are fuaher ignited. Together, he and Mary

provide her with an opportunity to participate in a belief system that satisfies her own

spiritual needs. When looking at Simon Jordan who, we are told, is writing a book on 25

çriminality, Gram fulfilis the Gnostic romance of Simon and Helen, embedding within her narrative theclues by which hertnie intentions might be read; hoping, it seems, that he might understand and participate in the ideology which has brought her to this point. The Simon and Helen tale is a specificaliy Gnostic one: in it, Simon, or the Logos idea, assumes the task of rescuing Helen, his First-Thought, from the lower reaixns. Unfortunately for Atwood's

Simon, however, the potential to cultivate that salvation and to fulfill the role of Savior - as

Gnosticism instructs - is not easily achieved.

Finally in this paper, 1 return to Grace Marks herself, exploring how she has developed her own ideology, and why she recognizes that system as heretical -and therefore, by necessity, "private." 1am reminded here of Bemice M. Murphy's review of Alias Grace, in which she writes that "this is very much a story about listening, and about reading between the lines in order to get to a trueridea of the real story (Murphy, "Subverting From Within").

In many ways, this seems a fair point from which to begin. Through a series of clever twists and turns, Atwood deftly negotiates the intricacies of larger social trends and movements, while localizing (and mythologizing) those experiences in such a manner that history becomes understood to her audience in terms of the individual. And so, who is "Alias

Grace"? She is, one might Say, the Grace we can read about histoncdly, only not quite. She is slightly askew from that version: she is the Grace Marks Atwood would like to see; a woman who - as demonstrated by Simon's attempt to capture her in print - cannot be recorded by the "writers-down," for the bkïters-down"have failed to recognize that she is constantly changing. Ultimately, Our reading of Alias Grace becomes known to us, then, as

Margaret Atwood's exploratory-and kinetic-approach to the possibilities of women's iives 26 outside canonical "history": an approach which, at once, invites reader participation in the construction of Grace's character, but also appears to safeguiird the novel's charactenzation of the latter within a decidedly specific framework. These Teachings Are Strange Ideas: Reading Mary Whitney Grace, [Simon) says 1. . .] who is Mary Whitney? I give him a quick look. Mary Whimey, Sir? Now where would you get a name such as that? 1say. Tt is written undemeath your portrait, he says. At the front of your Confession. Grace Markr, Alias Mary Whitney. Oh yes, 1Say. It is not a good likeness of me. And Mary Whitney? he says. Oh, that was just the name 1gave, Sir, at the tavern in Lewiston when Jmes McDermott was ninning away with me. He said 1should not give my own name, in case they came looking for us [. . -1. And did you give any name that came into your head? he says. Oh no, Sir, 1Say. Mary Whitney was once a particular friend of mine. She wadead by that time, Su, and I did not think she would rnind it if 1 used her name. She sometimes lent me her clothing, too. 1stop for a minute, thinking of the right way to explain it. She was always kind to me, 1 Say; and without her, it would have been a different story entirel y. (Atwood, Alias Grace 102).

Girl: When 1knot my han& and push my eyes Back to my dark of skull 1 see two faces looming: One more dim The mask of a cornplacent wnnkled Harridan in mink; The other nearer Melting through my teeth of ice With fire of her hard mouth; Are these my mother's, sister's, or my own Pattern in my inevitable bone? (Atwood, 'The Triple Goddess")

When Mary [had finished her account], she fell silent, since it was to this point that the Savior had spoken with her. But Andrew answered and said to the brethren, "Say what you (wish to) Say about what she has said. 1at least do not beIieve the Savior siiid this. For certain1y these teachings are smge ideas." (The Gospel of Mary, Apoçsrpha) 29

To understand Margaret Atwood's use of Gnostic heresy in Alias Grace, and the function it serves with respect to the feminist arc mentioned earlier, it is useful to first consider her positioning of the fictional character Mary Whitney. Given the knowledge that the name "[. ..] appears as Grace's alias in the picture that accompmies her confession, but

[that] noneof the commentators ever mentions a thing about it" (Atwood, Interview), Mary's presence in Alias Grace arrives largely as the product of invention, yet is crucial to the pater Gnostic myth Atwood is creating. As with so many of her novels, Atwood's penchant for literary allusion precedes her here. Readers will recognize in Mary Whimey a composite of many figures; among them, the woman from Sir Waiter Scott's "Lady of the

Lake"; the pregnant, abandoned maiden in Alfred Lord Tennyson's (similady-themed)

"Charity"; and more notably, the Gnostic Mary of the Apo~rypha.'~Yet, "1 didn't make her up completely," Atwood protests. "My reasoning was that if Grace was going to use an alias, she wouldn't have used 'Whitney' unless she had known some Whitneys" ("Natuml Born

Quilter"). Consequently, the history she imagines for Mary is a well-crafted one; both of the girl one might expect - a servant of simiiar age and station to Grace, in whom the latter might confide - and of another, then-contemporary persona, whose life is informed by the lives and experiences of other young women during the period. Of this last point in particular, Atwood explains that

Mary's story and sad end [hm a failed abortion] is based on a sad end in a biography of a doctorat the tirne. An account of the Life of a country doctor in mid- [nineteenth] century [whose] name was Doctor Langstriff. And he in fact practiced in RichmondHill, but right after the murders - he didn't how Grace - but there are several cases of girls like @lary] dying in that fashion [. .-1. [Sol she was based on that, and she was certainly based on lives of servants at the tirne. 30

Given som indication, îhen, of the Literaryand historical infiuences through which Atwood is working, my focus forthe remainderof this chapter rests specifically with the relationship

Atwood draws between Alias's Mary Whiiney and a more Gnostic idea of May. To do so is to be reminded that the author's view of history here reflects her unflinching feminist eye, observing historical omission where others would see historical oversight - and this is a crucial distinction to be made. Her awareness that a bridge between the two Marys will be achieved in the novel nat on account of the history that is there, but rather, the history that is absent, brings us once again to the processes by which both women found themselves ultimately andlof presumably defined.

Biblically, we are told that Mary is significant in canonicd accounts of the nativity only in relation to her son Jesus, but that as soon iis her role in his life diminishes, she disappears from those accounts. Similarly, the Bible contains nothing on Mary's life phor to that role, nor does it shed light on her last days and death (Clayton 6). Atwood's awareness of this, and her presumption of similu omissions with respect to the reai Mary

Whitney (assuming she existed) furthen a paralle1 embued in Alias Grace between Biblicai and Canadian histones as narrative constructions. The attraction to an apoçryphd or Gnostic

Mary is therefo~in the author's best interests here: first, it reflects the marginalized status of women observed in both Christian and Canadian "gospels"; and secondly, it allows - ihrough ties to such non-canonicd texts as The Gospel of Mary - the literay precedent for

Atwood's positioning of Mary Whitney as "cacher" in Alias Grace. Atwood has aiready pointed to the Apocrypha once before with the novel's inclusion of "Susannah and the

Eiders." Her addition of a "disreputable" Mary therefore onIy serves to reinforce that originaily meant something 'kept hidden because of its costliness or because of the objectionable nature of its content', then 'of hidden origin' and was a term associated especially with gnosticism. When Christian writers took over the term they associated it with the rejectedgnostic texts and used it pejoratively, and by about 400 the worddesignated texts regarded as disreputable or even hereticd, which could not be read in church. (Clayton 7-8)

Margaret Atwoodcertainly has an aflinity for forbidden subjects. Indeed, "[. ..] it's the very things that aren 't mentioned that inspire the most curiosity in us [. ..]," she says; adding that

"[tlhe Iwe of the Canadian past, for writers of my generation, has been partly the iure of the unmentionable - the mysterious, the buned, the forgotten, the discarded, the taboo"

C'Ophelia Has a Lot to Answer For"). It cornes as little surprise, then, that Alias Grace should focus on each of these. The deeper we move into Grace's tale, the more it becomes clear that Thomas Kinnear's explanation of "stories [. . .] they'd decided should not go in the

Bible" is surprisingly apropos (Alias Gram 222). Faced with the potentially incriminating tmth surrounding Mary's death [she was apparently made pregnant by the son of her employer, and dies from the after effects of an abortion], and the threat to her own family's

"canonicity," the girls' employer, Mrs. Alderman Parkinson, infons Grace: "we will not discuss [the subject] further, as it will only lead to unhappiness and added misery 1. ..] we will not say what Mary died of [. . .]. That will be best for di'' (177-8). And so, like the apocryphal Mary, the life of Mary Whitney - particularly on the days preceding her death - is treated in Atwood's novel as a problematic subject: a buried history, because it does not fit within the structure of the canonicai history or "gospel." From the author's srandpoint, this would have ken a more attractive idea than to accept that Mary Whitney's life was merely lost or forgotten. And it explains also - as 1 shall discuss later - the author's positioning of the novel's maidservants as "non-canonical" sisters.

Atwood's displacement of those histories is, of course, not without its historica! precedent. Elaine Pagels offers an insightfhl discussion of this with respect to Gnosticism and history in The Gnostic Gospels (1979), on which Atwood seems to draw. Pagels is important here: like Atwood, she too was a Harvard graduate student, and The Gnostic

Gospels was highly acclaimed and well-reviewed when it tïrst appesired. And so, Atwood was likeiy aware of its existence. Particularly useful here is Pagels's explanation that many of the Gnostics' most sacred texts - among them:

[. ..] secret gospels, revelations, mystical teachings - are among those not included in the select list that constitutes the New Testament collection. Every one of the secret texts which gnostic gmups revered was omitted from the canonicai collection, and brandedas hereticai by those who called themselves orthodox Christians. By the time the process of sorting the various writings ended - probably as late as the year 200 - virtuaily al1 the feminine imagery for God had disappeared from orthodox Christian traditions. (Pagels 57)

While the actuai reasoning behind these omissions remains unclear - even to the Gnostics

- many scholars agree that it was attributable, at least in part, to a correlation between what

Pagels identifies as religious theory and social attitudes (60). What Atwood is likely thinking

of here, however, is Gnostic schools such as the Valentinians in which women played a

greaterrole with respect to spiritual pra~tice.'~Indeed, among the Valentinians in particular,

we leam that "[. ..] women were considered equal to men; some were revered as prophets,

others acted as teachers, traveling evangehts, healers, pnests, perhaps even bishops [. . .]

[whereas] from the year 200, we have no evidence for women taking prophetic, prïestly, and

episcopal roles arnong orthodox chwches" (60-1). The omission of the Ferninine from orthodox spirituality seems to be the history through which the author is working: indeed, readers will note that the Vaientinian roles of "teacher" and "traveling evangelist" are filled in Alias Grace by Mary and Jeremiah, respectively; and furthermore, that this school of thought would seem to tit well with Atwood's apparent use of the Gnostics' Simon and

Helen myth, as discussed later in this essay.=

For now, Atwood's designation of women's histones as something "unearthed" by historicai novelists is - by its very suggestion of recovery - an image to which the author seems intent on retuming. To re-assemble those histories in Alias Grace as another (or the

"other") Bible is, one might Say, the author's primary objective here; in essence, challenging the forces by which "texts" like Grace's and Mary's were origindly suppressed. Her use of

Gnosticism supports this; in part, because we are told that "since the official Church wu patriarchal and authoritarian, Gnosticism gave expression to those matriarchal and libertarian tendencies which are there, suppressed or not, in al1 societies" (Rexroth xix)." In Alias

Grace, the manifestation of those tendencies seems tooriginate from Grace's recognition that

"it was the doctor that killed [Mary] [. ..] him, and the gentlemen [Alderman Parkinson's son] between them" (Alias Grace 178). Mary's death is a physical one, but is also - and more importantly here -a historical one. Indeed, Grace tells us that

the way in which Mary died was hushed up as much as possible- That she had died of a fever may or may not have been believed, but nobody said no to it out loud. Nor did anyone deny that she'd left her things to me, in view of what she had written down; though there were some raised eyebrows v her writing it, as if she'd known ahead of time that she was going to die. (197)

Mary's removal from the officia1 "story" in the Alderman Parkinson home provides Grace with a first-hand understanding of women's Lives as "texts"; just as the idea of "prophecy" 34 itself - an act strictly forbidden in orthodox churches - also informs her exclusion. How

Grace eventuaiiypresents that omission, however, is key to how we readMary Whitney and, ultimately, to how we read Grace herself. Atwood seems to be drawing from the Gnostics here: her inclusion of the apple-prophecy scene (Alias Grace 166) reaffirms the observation that "[al11 the apocsrpha have some details in common," among which is that Mary is told in advance of her death (Clayton 26). Given Thomas Kinnear's placement of the "Susannah and the Elders" tale outside the Bible, it seems appropriate, then, that Grace should choose to reinterpret Mary's life and teachings in a similar fashion: imagining them, Atwood suggests, as non-canonical and - after she mats Jecemiah - specifically Gnostic doctrine.

There are two reasons for thinking this: first, the Bible is the only book in Alias Grace thrit

Grace claims to know "backwacds and forwards" (222); and secondly, its symbolically- charged narrative is, conceivably, the only - and perhaps the best - method by which she might communicate those moral and spintual progressions to Simon.

It is by tuming to Mary Whitney's role as "teacher" in Alias Grace, then - and to the novel's first displays of Gnostic tendencies - that one begins to understand the development of Grace's own heretical leanings. To begin, we look to Grace's first tecollections of Mary, as told to Simon Jordan. Having lost her motherduring the voyage to Canada, Grace recrills that: "1 was pleased to be with Mary Whitney, as 1 liked her at once [. ..]. She said 1 might be very Young, and as ignorant as an egg, but [felt that] 1was bright as a new penny, and the ciifference between snipid and ignorant was that ignorant could lem" (Alias Grace 147-9).

What she learns, however, is central to this thesis: that embracing knowledge - particularly a knowledge of the self; a knowledge of good and evil- is, in itseif, not necessarily a bad thing. Instead, like Pandora's box, the question is not "why did Pandora open it?" but rather

-as Mary says - "why did they leave such a box lying around, if they didn't want it opened?"

(146). The relationship Atwood draws toward knowledge in this section of the novel is

fascinating: on one hand, Mary's statement connotes what Hans Jonas describes in The

Gnostic Religion as "the subjectivisr argument of traditional moral skepticism: nothing is

naturally good or bad, things in themselves are indifferent [. . .] [and that] 'only by human

opinion are actions good or bad"' (272). Yet, it also imparts a rationalization common to

many of the Gnostic sects: a distinction between knowledge and ignorance that many

Gnostics equated to the very difference between life and death; salvation and oblivion. It is

this idea ofsaving knowledge which interests me here, primarily for the separation it allows

Atwood to form in the novel between mind and body. Under this idea, Grace's physical

incarceration becomes less consequential. The author was likely attracted to this because it

allows Grace to subvert, spiritually, the freedoms that have been taken from her physically.

''Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow rwm," Wordsworth might Say; yet it is useful to

preface Mary's involvement in the novel by stating that

[mlany gnostics [. . .] insisted that ignorance, not sin, is what involved a person in suffering. [And consequently,] the gnostic movement shared certain affinities with contemporary methods of explonng the self through psychotherapeutic techniques." Both gnosticism and psychology value, above al1 else, knowledge - the self- knowledge which is insight. They agree that, lacking this, a penon experiences the sense of king driven by impulses he [or, in this case, she] does not understand [. . -1. Most people live, then, in oblivion - or in contemporary terms, in unconsciousness. Remaining unaware of their own selves, they have 'no root.' (Pagels 124-5)

Here we find that the absence of gnosis or self-laiowledge is an obstacle in Gnostic

teachings, preventing one hmachieving fulfiilment; just as the un~villingnessto seek out 36 knowledge is, in itself, a secondary form of destruction (126). The psycholagical parallels here are best reserved for my discussion of Simon Jordan, but what is important here is that

Atwood's juxtaposition of Grace's physical confinement with the threat of her spiritual confinement reaffirms the necessity for the latter to undertake that journey.'j

Throughout the novel we become aware -as Grace does (and Simon does not) - thai

finding gnosis facilitates a transcendence from che trappings of ignorance and suffering that

imprison us: that is, we become aware of the beginnings of salvation. The Valentinian

schwl of Gnosticism would say that "what miikes us free is the knowledge of who we were,

what we have become; where we were, wherein we have been thrown; whereto we speed,

wherefrom we are redeemed; [and] what is birth, and what rebitth" (Jonas 334). Atwood

presents an awareness of this also. Gme's discussion of the Fast with Simon, and her

inclusion of the aforementioned apple prophecies, iilusmtes a weighted considention of

those same questions. Given the evidence pmvided, it seems unlikely that Mary's role in the

novel is to specifically pass dong Gnostic teactungs; rather, it seems more likely that, as a

consequence of hindsight and narration, Atwood's Grace has chosen to cast her memory of

Mary's philosophy in a decidedly Gnostic light - largely, it seems, on account of what

Jeremiah the peddier had since taught her. And so, dthough somewhat indirectly, Mary's

observations of their lives as wants has assistedGrace in understanding -in avery Gnostic

sense - a broad range of issues; among them: the fallen state of the world, the circurnstances

which have defined her situation, and the means by which she might escape hemboth. And

yet, while the path itself is initially set out for her by the novel's "teachers," it is a joumy

that Grace must ultimately take done. During her time with Mary Whitney, Grace fin& herself exposed to knowledge that

she had neither known nor previously considered. "Mary took me under her wing hmthe

very first [. .-1," she explains to Simon. '9 was to be made presentable [. ..]. But first I [had to] be scnibbed like a potato, 1was that filthy" (Alias Grace 151). This notion of cleansing

Grace becomes important later on; but what is prescient here, while speaking to Simon of

hers and Mary's relationship, is one lesson in particulas from her cornpanion's teachings -

specificaily, Mary's belief that

[. . .] king a servant was like anything else, there was a knack to it which many never learnt, and it was al1 in the way of looking at it. For instance, we'd always been told to use the back stairs, in order to keep out of the way of the family, but in üuth it was the other way around: the front stairs were there so that the family would keep out of our way. They could go traipsing up and down the stairs in their fancy clothes and trinkets, which the real work of the place went on behind their backs, without them getting snarled up in it, and interfering [. . .] making a nuisance of themselves. They were feeble and ignorant creatures, dthough rich, and most of them could not light a f~kif their toes were freezing off, because they didn't know how [. . .] [or that] if they were to lose ail their money tomorrow and be thrown out on the streets, they would not even be able to make a living by honest whoring [. ..]. (Alias Grace 158)

There are two things going on here: first is notion that the truth of one's circumstances is "al1

in the way of looking at it"; the larger irnpiication being, of course, the possibiliry of reading

outside traditionai boundaries. Second here is Mary's identification of the Alderman

Parkinsons as "feeble" and "ignorant": a distinction that seems, on one hand, a contempt for

those of higher class or station, but is aiso, suggestively, later read by Grace as a

reinforcement of the gulf between those with gnosis and those without. This becomes

important when later considering Grace's relationship with the apple of knowledge and,

particularly, with Atwood's suggestion of the üue motives behind those who have 38 imprisoned her. Of Mary's proposai that it's "al1 in the way of looking at it," however, we find a playful, but cruciai perspective for Gtace at this point in the novel. While the message itself may appearelementary in iight of herlaterconclusions, she wastes little time in finding uses for its application.

One such moment in the novel cornes as the girls decide to delay their return to the

Alderman Parkinson home one &y so that Grace might view "the women who made a living by selling their bodies" (152). What is cnicial about this scene in particular is not the concept of prostitution itself (although this is important to the novel's reflection of women's histories); rather, it is the manner by which Grace evduates what is shown to her, noting that

although they rnight look very elegant Crom a distance, with feather and satins, up close you could see that their dresses were soiled and ill-fitting, as every stitch on their backs was rented by the day, and they scarcely had enough left over for their bread; and it was a dismal sort of life, and mary] wondered why they did not throw themselves into the Iake, which some did, and were often found floating in the harbour. (152-3)

Grace's view of the prostitutes moves beyond facades or cosmetic attributes to assume a more practical sensibility, concentrating not on the occupation itself, but on the hardships they face as women. In many ways, Atwood is using the scene to preface Grace's Iater disillusionment with orth&x Chcistianity. Mary does teach Grace in this section of the novel that the idea of "Eve's curse [. ..] was stupid, and that the real curse of Eve was having to put up with the nonsense of Adam, who as soon as there was any trouble, blarned it al1 on her" (164) - reminding us again of the abuse and displacement of women's histories within

Bibiicai structures. Much Like the reiigious and moral hypocrisy Grace fin& elsewhere in the novel, the most important Iesson she lems hmMary Whitney here is how to view 39 alternate interpretations of the visible world: an ideaoriginally presented in relation to their roles as servants, but is taken further by Grace as a key to viewing the world for its cruelty to women. This is, of course, important to Grace when later solidimng her own ideology, and so Mary's role in Alias Grace does seem instrumental to this, but is established in a very indirect way. "Mary was an outspoken young womim," is how she explains it to Simon, "[.

.] and she had very democratic ideas, which is took me some getting used ton (159). And yet, readers recognize that it is much more than this. Instances such as Mary's playful mockecy of authonty in the novel, and Gme's observation that "Mary] prayed so much because she was praying to God to get her white teeth back again, but so farno results" (148) are retold to Simon here in terms that suggest not that Mary was trying to make the best of a difficult life, but that it was she in particular who led Grace - whether knowingly or not - to a loss of faith in the Father.

Even with this, however, Atwood remains playful. &'Onehther leads to another,"

Simon Jordan tells us (140). And indeed, this ideaof new readings, and new possibilities in

Alias Grace is best evidenced in the novel through Grace's revision of the Holy Trinity to favor a more Gnostic, matnarchal relationship. By this point, Atwood has already establishedGrace's father in the novel as a wicked, hateful tyrant who rnaltreats his childm

- one who kars strong similarities to the cm1Jehovah or Old Testament Demiurge. The reader will notice that Atwood is working on a couple of levels here: first, it is an account of Grace's relationship with her father; and secondly, it dmws an allegorical relationship between manlpatriarchy and God the Father. Initiaiiy, Grace bewilderediy recalls a time in which "[she] was still trying to please him" (log), yet subsequently professes to Simon her moral qualm that "[. ..] it is not right to speak il1 of a parent" (149). What follows, however, is a narrative maneuver which delivers yet another upset, given the novel's more orthodox environment. 1 am ceferring here to one of Grace's final discussions about her father; and particularly, her confession that

1 believe it was only [after my mother's death] that 1 tmly began to hate Km, especially considering how he had treated our mother in life [. . -1. The older 1 became, the less 1was able to please him, and 1myself had lost al1 of a child's natural faith in a parent, as he was drinking up the bread out of his childrenysmouths, and soon he would force us to begging, or thieving, or worse. Also his rages returned, stronger than before my mother had died. Aiready my anns were black and blue, and then one night he threw me against the wall, as he7d sometimes done with my rnother, shouting chat 1 was a slut and a whore, and 1 fainted; and after that 1 feared he might someday break my spine, and make a cripple out of me. (129)

Atwood is being clever here, playing with Gnostic patterns: the father-daughterrelationship described above essentially repeats the Gnostic theme of the Son rebelling against the Father; one best evidenced in the writings of William Blake. In particular, Atwood seems to be drawing from Blake's Urizen: the "cruel father of children." First seen in The Book of

Urizen (1794), and again in Valu; or, The Four Zoas, the significance of Blake's work here is that it is representative of a late eighteenth-century movement of the Romantics back toward the Genesis creation myth. Blake's reading of Genesis in particular is one that has been tied with Orphic (second century Gnostic) teachings: A.D. Nuttal's The Alternative

Trini', for example, makes this point clear, noting the similarities between Gnostic thought

and cosmologies laid out by Blake (10). Through a similar maneuver, Atwood seems to be

furthering a Gnostic tradition of sorts by shifting the focus to the daughter (Nuttai Il). The

importance of this joumey back to the original Creation myth becomes clear in my later 4 1 discussion of Grace Marks; but, suffice to Say, the attraction for Atwood here is that Gad represents - as He Likely did for Blake - the Original Patriarch.

hsumably led by the Romantics' tendency to upset the structure of order in their

narratives, Atwood's novel arrives at the sarne reversal: God the loving Father in Christianity

becomes God the oppressive tyrant in Alias Grace. 1have noted that it is common in Blake's

writings, and others - such as Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, where Frankenstein betrays his creator - use it as well. In Alias Grace, these same ideas reappear. Certainly, one could

argue that this was merely a limited movement among the Romantics; or, that many of these

wnters were, in fact, working independently of any knowledge of Gnosticism. Yet,

ultimately - and the same may be true here for Atwood as well- "whether [these] writers [.

. .] worked from models or shaped their creation myths independently, the fact is that their

myths take a gnostic tum" (Cantor xi). Margaret Atwood, in particular, seems to enjoy

complicating Biblical structures: indeed, Mary Whitney and Grace's Gnostic Trinity -

comprised of Grace, Mary, and Nancy - seems to represent a retum of sorts to the origins of

canonical history - the original Creation myth; for what better way to (re-)inscribe the role

of the ferninine in the Gospel narratives than to start at the beginning. The author recognizes

here that if God and the Son (or in Alias Grace, the Daughter) do not stand together, or stand

in opposition, the triad itself cannot exist in unity. And so, the Trinity she imagines for

Grace is one constructed not îÏom a patriarchai-based relationship, but from a union of

women's histories identifred in the novel. In doing so, Grace's and Atwood's attempts to

reclaim the God in Three Persons becomes highly subversive to those systems, for hen is a 42 tnnity in which the masculine principle is forsaken for a structure in which al1 parts are feminine and, presumably, equai.

It would appear hmcloser exarnination of Grace's narrative that she is not exposed to this perspective from her mother, presumably because the latter is described by Grace as

"weak-spirited"; unable to claim her independence from the father (Alias Grace 109). And so, as I've said, bnnging Grace Marks to this point, although perhaps somewhat unwittingly, is Mary Whitney. Her offer to help Grace id herself of her father's rage is accepted by

Grace shortly after her entry into the Alderman Parkinson home. Indeed, Mary encourages her that they should battle the cruel father together; and of this scene in particular, Grace recounts to Simon that:

My father came round at the end of the first rnonth, and wanted al1 my wages; but 1 could only give him a quarter, having spent the rest. And then he began to curse and swear, and seized me by the am;but Mary set the stablehands ont0 him. And he came back at the end of the second month, and 1gave him a quarter again, and Mary told hirn he wasn't to corne any more. And he called her hard narnes, and she called hirn worse, and whistled for the men; and so he was chased off. (Alias Grace 157)

Here, Grace's father is removed from the picture. Given the novel's technique or penchant for correspondences between the visible/invisible worlds, Atwood's text can be read here to suggest not only the spirituai (orthodox) Father, but the lower Father as well.

Initiaiiy, the structure of the Trinity left behind is uncertain: Grace no longer feels love for the Father - now, the Gnostics* Derniurge, or infenor God - and, presumably, realigns herself with the Unknown God (Forefather) who exists beyond the visible world.

Indeed, "God is everywhere," she acknowledges, "and cannot be caged in, as men can"

(254); doubly refemng to both physical incarceration, and man's suffering ai the center of the Gnostics' "outer darkness." It is not swsing, then, when Grace's abandonment of her father (or the Father) in Alias Grace cornes with little guilt or remorse over her actions. The

suggestion, we read, is that

[wlhether one pictures the creator-god as maievolent, or as simply rnistaken as to how to make man happy, or perhaps just incompetent in canying out basically good intentions, the liberating effect of these gnostic visions of the creator is the same. Man need no longer be in awe of his creator, he need no longer even feel grateful for king created. He can tum his back on God with a good conscience and set about charting his own course, seeking out ways to remake an imperfectly created world, and even to change his own nature for the better. The denigration of God as a creator in Romantic myth is for the sake of exaiting man's own creative potential. (Cantor xiv)

And this is precisely what Grace hopes to accompIish. The abandonment of the Demiurge

or creator-god can only, in her eyes, be viewed as a good thing. By approaching the world

around her - a place already identified as ccuelly unkind to women - Grace seeks to make

an improvement in her circumstances by fulfilling the vinues of her own nature, and by

aligning herself with a still higher, unknown force.

What we find in place of the orihodox Trinity by novel's end is a continuation of this

idea: a makeshift replacement that is, in essence, a reconstitutedTnnity; one in which both

Mary Whitney and Nancy Montgomery have assumed a role. in describing the quilt pattern

itself, the Tree of Paradise - and her knowledge that this is a structure best conceaied within

a larger frame - Grace explains that

[. ..] three of the triangies in my Tree will be different. One wiii be white, from the petticoat Istill have that was Mary Whitney's; one will be faded yeiiowish, hmthe prison nightdress 1begged to keep as a keepake when 1left there. And the third wiii be pale Cotton, apink and white floral, cut fmm the dress of Nancy's that she had one the Eirst day 1was at Mr. Kinnear's, and that 1wore on the ferry to Lewiston, when 1was running away. 1will embroider around each one of them with red-feather stitching, to blend them in as a part of the pattern. And so we will al1 be together. (Alias Grace 460)

Certainly, this image of the Trinity brings with a host of associated patterns found throughout both Gnostic and Christian literatwes; among them, the idea of God the mother; or, the

Father, Mother, and Holy Spirit; or perhaps it is something altogether different. What is more important here, however, seems to be the dethat Mary assumes with Grace and Nancy as supporters of their structure. Aside from Grace' s observation that "[Nancy] resembled

Mary Whitney" (202), and that she "[. . .] Iaughed and joked rnuch as Mary Whitney had done" (ZOO), the cohesion of that unit is perhaps accounted for when Grace comments - much as Mary had does before her- that "Nancy [said] [. . .] you had to lem to stand up for yourself in this life; and 1 thought that was true*' (201).

Throughout Alias Grace, Mary Whitney's role as a teacher of new knowledge is one paralleled by the Gnostic text The Gospel of Mary, which Atwood seems to know. In it,

Mary attempts to realize her role as a disciple of Chnst despite the objections of patriarchal forces; particularly those belonging to more orthodox leaders. Gathered with the other disciples, the tract details how sheencounters hostility and disbelief afterdisclosing what she daims the Savior taught her privately, through thought. Following an argument questioning her right to preach the gospel, the Savior intervenes, saying that whoever the Spirit inhabits may be able to speak, man or woman:

[. ..] Mary stoodup, greeted them aII, and said to her brethren [. ..]. 'What is hidden from you 1wili proclah to you.' And she began to speak to them these words: 'I', she said, 'T saw the Lord in a vision and I said to him [. . .] Lord, [. ..] how does he who sees the vision see it (ihrough) the sou1 (or) through the spirit?' The Savior answered and said 'He does not see through the sou1 nor through the spirit, but the mind which is between the two [. . .] that is what sees the vision. (The Gospel of Mary 472)

[wlhen Mary had [finishedspeaking] she fell silent, since it was to this point that the Savior had spoken with her. Sut Andrew answered and said to the brethren, 'Say what you (wish to) say about what she has said. 1 at least do not ùelieve that the Savior said this. Forcertainly these teachings are strange ideas.' Peteranswered and spoke concerning these same things. He questioned hem about the Savior: 'Did he really speak privately with a woman (and) not openly to us? Are we to turn abut and al1 listen to her? Did he prefer her to us?' (473)

And so, The Gospel of Mary seems to inform Atwood's Mary Whitney, both in the outspokenness she exhibits and the emphasis on mental faculties as the medium for divine

revelation. 1 am rerninded here by Nancy's and Mary's belief that a woman has to stand up

for herself; and indeed, it is conceivable that Atwood is drawing from The Gospel of Mary

here because it aiso malces this connection. Mary's life - particularly the teachings she

imparted - is absorbed by Grace in the novel much as she would absorb the revelations

within a text. "[. ..] mt was her name 1borrowed, when 1was in need of it," she says, "for

she was never one to refuse a friend in neeci, and 1hope 1 stood by her well, when the time

came for it" (Alias Grace 147). Even the bailad 'The Lady of the Lake" is well-positioned

here: Atwood reverses the expectations set up by Sir Walter Scott's tale of the seduced and

abandoned maiden, concentrating instead on Grace's recognition that "'nvas the tmth in lier

eye mer dawning, Thar made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee" (170).

And yet, what is this tnith? We might read this as an extension of Mary Whitney's

earlier belief that "it's di in the way of looking at it": the Gnostic's penchant for reading

histones differently; or of seeing beyond the visible world. But perhaps the greatest of

Mary's teachings in Alias Grace - and certainly one which becomes important to Atwood's 46 murderess later in the novel - is the need to perform one's duties as one wishes but, above dl, to do so without king seen. ifa woman and- more specifically -a servant, is successful

in this, Mary says, those of her kind will reach a unique conclusion about their place in the

world: specificaily, that "[iln the end, we had the better of them, because we washed their

dirty linen and therefore we knew a good deal about them; but they did not wash ours, and

knew nothing about us at ali" (158). What Atwood is reaily speaking about in this image of

dirty linen, however, is secret or hidden knowledge. "Jeremiah, Blow the Fire": Raising the Divine Spark in Alias Grace 1sold Mary's] box, which was goodquaiity, and aiso her best dress, to Jeremiah the peddler, who came around again just after her death; and I aiso sold him the gold ring which she kepc hidden under the floor. 1 told him it was to pay for a decent burial, and he gave me a fair price and more. He said he'd seen death in Mary's face, but then, hindsight is aiways accurate. He aiso said he feIt sorry for her death, and would Say a prayer for her, although what sort of prayer 1 could not imagine, as he was a heathenish sort of man, with al1 his tricks and fortune-telling. But surely the form of a prayer does not matter, and the only distinction God makes is between good will and ill; or so 1have corne to believe. (Alias Grace 198) 49

Our Fit introduction to Jeremiah the peddler in Alias Grace comes as a rather playful moment in the novel, yet is swprisingly indicative of greater things to corne.

Observing a procession of children foliowing a man down the Street, Grace notes both the event and the accompanying Song: "Jeremiah, blow the fire 1Puff puff puff; 1First you blow it gently, 1 Then you blow it rough!" (Alias Grace 153). Although his appearance at this point in the novel precedes the death of Mary Whitney, it isn't until Iater that Grace discovers that the ideas he holds are in fact closely united with the former's; and that when placed under the banner of Gnosticism, Mary and Jeremiah's teachings assume a more distinct and hereticai shape. Indeed, it is Mary and Jeremiah who dlow Atwood to sustain the novel's

Gnostic undercurrent. If one reads the Song above as indicative of the novel's larger

structure, it is easy to understand the metaphor through which the author is working: the

flame or divine spark of gnosis as previously lit by Mary Whitney - while once small and

indefinite - is, on account of Jererniah, made fiery and apparent here from the benefit of his

teac hings.

As with her other invented persons, Atwood grounds the function of Jeremiah's

character in the novel as a conflation of Gnostic elernents. On one hand, it seems she is

using Jeremiah the pedder here as a form of "World-savior," as commonly associated with

the Satuminus school of Gnosticism. Theirs is a concept that emphasizes regeneration,

"whereby a World saviorin the form of a man, though not really a man, brings about not only

the defeat of evil powers, but also rescues d who have the light spark within them" (Mead

179). Teaching also the pater, Unknown Father, and many of the same ideas about gnosis

mentioned earlier, Satuminus' approach to redeeming the spintual elite is in keeping with 50 many of the novel's other Gnostic tendencies. Indeed, the World-savior image itself holds a close association to the Sirnonian rnyth of Simon andHelen, which is ais0 important here.

As 1explain in the proceeding chapters, the relationship Atwood draws between Grace Marks and the novel's psychologist, Dr. Simon Jordan, appears to be firmly grounded in this myth, and the redernption of Gmce Marks, if in fact the novel wishes one, ultimately seems dependent - at least in part - on the success of that union.

My emphasis for now, however, rests with the presence of a somewhat darker elernent in Atwood's Jeremiah. The more orthodox mernbers of Atwood's community frequently refer to him in the novel as Devil-Li ke or untrustworthy (Alias Grace 1545,269); and Grace herself concedes at one point that although Jeremiah seemed kindly, "[. . .] appearances can be deceptive, as Mary] found to her cost" (268). ironically, some of the

Gnostic undertones identified in Paradise Lûst, or even Marlowe's Dr. Fazisrus (Nuttd) - and which define the "tempter" in those works - are the same qualities operating in the relationship between Grace Marks and Jeremiah the peddler. This is not to siiy or imply that there are Gnostic undertones in ail works; or that this is common by any rneans; but rather, that many works can be read thmugh, or bear similarities to in their systems of thought, a

Gnostic fmmework. 1will return to this shortly, but suffice to Say that Atwood does so here, presumabky, to illustrate the contrast in public reception: the Gnostic ideology, while hereticd and foreboding to some, is for othea the only true path to sdvation. Historicaily,

Jeremiah's presence in Alias Grace cmbe attributed to a number of factors. Most visible, however, is the function of his occupation itself: Grace infom us that - among other things

-Jeremiah is apeddler; that he impocts foreign andexotic items hmelsewhere so they can be bought and sold in the colonies. Among those goods, however, is Atwood's suggestion that what Jeremiah redy peddles here is knowledge.

The allusion is a complex one, but it is one which deserves to be worked through.

We are told, for instance, that Jeremiah the peddler is an Amencan (154). Recounting his recent travels, he informs Grace: "1 was lately down in the States where 1 can buy notions cheap, and sel1 them up here for more [. . -1" (266). What comes to the reader's mind perhaps first here is the author's double use of "notions" as both goods and ideas.

Furthennore -and more importantly, however- those farniliar with what was occumng in the United States around the time of the Kinnear-Montgomery murders will also recognize that - at the same time as the authority of Scnpture was king questioned - one could also

Cind a rapidly growing fascination with Gnosticism. Indeed, Etsuko Taketani tells us that

the United States in the early nineteenth century was much more active about learning about Gnosticism than we usually imagine. Norton's fie Evidences of the Genuineness oIthe Gospels (1844)was the first scholarly book of Gnosticism ever produced by an American. Despite the fact that it was written to confirm the genuineness of the Gospels, this was an amazingly extensive book covering al1 imaginable topics onGnosticism, including çhapters "On the System of the Gnostics, as intended for a Solution on the Existence oFEvil in the World," "On the Opinions of the Gnostics concerning the Evil as inherent in Matter," and "On the Opinions of the Gnostics conceming the person of Christ," (Taketani)

Is Atwood using Jeremiah in Alias Grace as a transmitter of these ideas, then? It would seem so, particularly given his later teachings. Xndeed, when commenting on the subject of religion, he acknowledges:

1 could become a preacher [. . .]. Below the border there is a great demand for it, more so than here, in particular during the summers, when the preaching is done outdoors, or in tents; and the people there love to fall down in fits, and tdk in tongues, and be savedonce asummer, or more if available [. .-1. A faithless preacher with a good rnanner and voice will always convert more than a limp-handed long- faced fool, no matter how Godly [. ..]. (Alias Grace 267)

Admittediy, Jeremiah's intent here is to make money under false pretenses. Atwood may be speaking from acanadian nationalist perspective here, offering a specific comment or barb on U.S. religiosity; however, she is, 1 think, more broadly hinting toward the novel's underlying implications of religious and moral hypocrisy in orthodox pmctices. Certainly, kremiah's views here precede similar offerings by Grace in the novel (253-4); and moreover, Grace's predilection for trickster narratives also seems to owe its origin to the techniques and advice offered within these passages..

Al1 of this brings me back to an earlier point: which is that - aside from the offer of forbidden knowledge - Margaret Atwood is playing with something else tw. Gmce's repeated description of Jeremiah's "piercing" (154) and "shining" (155) black eyes and - even more subtly - a trick in which "[. . .] he could swallow a fork, or appear to" (the suggestion being, of course, a forked-tongue), finds the author emphasizing Jeremiah's role as the serpent-tempter of both orthodox and unoahodox religion. The significance here lies in the differences of reception with this figure. Orthodox Chnstianity views the serpent as

He who led Adam and Eve to the Fail by exposing them to the Tree of Knowledge; and indeed, this wouldaccount for the suspicious attitudes toward Jererniah by the novel's more pious characters (154-5; 269-70). Not so in Gnosticism. Indeed, citing some of Hans Jonas' views of Gnostic dualism, Stefan Rossbach tells us:

[. ..] The snake is here a representative of the divine sphere, who reveals to humans the evil purposes of their mators. They want to keep Adam hmeating the forbidden fniit only in order to preserve his state of ignorance. Adam, of course, eats hmthe forbidden fruit and thereby obtains knowledge, gnosis, of his divinity. Full of envy and anger, the archons expel Adam andEve from paradise and send them to earth. Wimessing the spark of iight glowing in Adam, they become fuUy aware of his superiurity and decide to make him forever a prisoner of matter. They curse Adam and Eve and everything that exists in the cosmos. The &miurge and the archons remain masters of the matter, hyle, and the cosmos, but the divine plan to overcome creation and hence to &prive them of their power now ha poweriùl assistants in the men and women of knowledge. The episode which places humanity above its creator is essentially an inversion of the Christian reading of Genesis* Adam actually obtains knowledge by eating the forbidden fruit. This act is an act of liberrition, of awareness, of awaking from the sleep of ignorance. Eating the fruit was humanity's First revolution against the oppressive creators, the beginning of its emancipation. Through knowledge, humans realize that they have to turn away from their creators. In this outlwk, the Christian exegesis appears as the continuation of the archonic attempt to keep humans in a state OF ignorance about their real pwers. (Rossbach 5 1-2)

This would seem to account for rnuch of Groce's actions and beliefs discussed later in ihis essay. Moreover, the influence that Mary Whitney has dready had on Grace becomes clear, given the movement discussed in the above passage; and it gives some indication aIso as to the direction she will take with Ieremiah through his teachings.

Jeremiah's function within the Gnostic perspective - while crucial to Grace's later ideology - does not actually occut in the novel until considerable time has pzssed in their acquaintance. hstead, we find that the origin of their relationship is fraught with Gnostic innuendo - as though she is king tested - during which time Jeremiah informs Gnce "you are one of us" (Alias Grace 155). Naturaliy, one cm read this a number of different ways, just as Grace also professes its ambiguity to Simon, It could be that Jeremiah views Grace as a wanderer of sorts, Like himself: this much is assumai by her. Taken more liberally, however-particularly ifoneconsiders Grace's narration after-the-fact-it seems more Likely here that he is refening to Grace as having an eIevated potentid for gnosis. Whichever the case, the point is that Ieremiah provides the latter with the means to understand her place in the Kinnear-Montgomery household. Telling Grace of his travels around North America,

Grace recaiis one of the more subversive sermons he gave:

Laws are meant to be broken, he said, and these laws were not made by me and mine, but by the powers that be, and for theirown profit. But Iam harming no one. A man with any spirit in him likes a challenge, and to outwit others; and as to being caught, I'm an old fox, and have been at it a few too many years for that. (266)

Are the "powers that be" Jeremiah is refemng to here actuaily the Gnostics' archons, intent

on keeping mankind in a state of ignorance? 1s the "spirit*' within him actuaily the divine

spark espoused so readily in Gnosticism? Certainly, these are intriguing possibilities. But

his statement that "Laws are meant to be broken" is of primary importance here, for it is

assumed that - when coupled with Mary Whitney's earlier statements - she might be freed

from the trappings of conventionid modity.

In this manner, Atwood's mode1 for Jeremiah may in fact by the Gnostic teacher

Marcus. - who, we are told, was weil-known for his abilities to draw women away from

orthodox churches and into heretical groups. In The Gnostic Gospels, Elaine Pagels

describes him as

[. ..] adiabolicailycleverseducer, amagician who compounded speciai aphrodisiacs to "deceive, victimize and defile*' his prey [. . .]. Marcus "addresses them in such seductive words" as his prayers to Grace, "She who is before al1 things, "and to Wisdom and Silence, the ferninine element of the divine being. Second [. .-1 Marcus seduced women by "telling them to prophecy" which they were strictly forbidden to do in orthodox church. (Pagels 59)

There are two things of importance here in relation to the novel: first is Jeremiah's

suggestion to Grace that she could nin away with him and be his pmer in a medical

clairvoyance scheme, which on one hand seems to merthis idea of the Marcus

relationship: the Gnostic teacher seducing the "foolish woman"; and secondly, parallels Marcus's invitation to women "to act as piests in celebrating the eucharist with him" (59-

60). When speaking to Simon of Jeremiah's offer, she States: "1 won? conceal from you, Sir, that the idea [to leave with him] was greatly tempting" (Alias Grace 268). Beyond this, however, is the second point here: Jeremiah's own knowledge of prophecy, who wisely explains to Grace that "[tlhe future Lies hid in the present, for those who can read it" (265).

The point Atwood seems to be making here is that kremiah is responsible for Grace's final departure from orthodox teachings; threatening to the Victorians because her invitedrole as

"teacher" or "prophet" assigns her a specifically masculine function. He provides a bridge of sorts - as evidenced by the alistses "Jerome DuPont" and "Gerald Bridges" - between traditional doctrine and an awareness of gnosis or saving knowledge. He is indeed the

World-savior: either working aione, or in tandem with Grace. He defeats the archons - the lower powers who wish to keep her impnsoned - by using tric kery, and clears the obstacles

for her so that she may cross Jordan. If we read his own accounts of his Mesmerism and

Magnetism cons, dmperformed with a woman, we find an apt explanation as to the success

of both ventures. Here, he tells us,

1 was the one who made the passes and took in the money, and she was the one to have a muslin veii put over her, and go into a trance, and speak in a hollow voice, and tell the people what was wrong with hem, for a fee of course. h is wellnigh foolproof, for as they can't see inside their own bodies, who's to Say whether you're right or not. (267)

Atwood, of course, has a double meaning here: Jeremiah's statement is a barb at the public's

lack of knowledge; but more importantiy, mocks their lack of self-knowledge as well. For

what's inside their own bodies, he suggests, is an unreaiized Gnostic potential that they have

yet to awaken. The final scene in the novel in which we see an interaction between Jeremiah and

Grace arrives after she has begun her new iife with her husband, Jamie Walsh. Now presumably in Paradise, she observes that Jeremiah is again presenting himself to the public as amedium, and when passing him on the street she notes that he "[. ..] was more elegantly dressed than ever [. . .] doing a very goad imitation of a man who is distinguished and at home in the world, but with his mind on the higher ûuth" (456). What is significant about the culmination of this relationship, however, is the implications it ultimately raises for moraiity. Specifically, Hans Jonas tells us that "in this life

thepneumatics, as the possessors of gnosis cailed themselves, are set apart from the great mass of mankind. The irnmediate illumination is not only makes the individual sovereign in the sphere of knowledge (hence the Iirnitless variety of gnostic doctrines) but also determines the sphere of action. Generaily speaking, the pneumatic moraiity is detennined by hostility toward the world and contempt for dl mundane ties. Fmm this pnnciple, however, two contrary conclusions could be drawn, and both found their extreme representatives: the ascetic and the libertine. The former deduces hmthe possession of gnosis the obligation to avoid further contamination by the worldandtherefore to reduce contact with it to a minimum; the latter derives from the same possession the privilege of absolute freedom [. ..]. The law of 'Thou shalt" and 'Thou shah not" promulgated by the Creator is just one more form of "cosmic" tyranny. The sanctions attaching to its transgression can affect only the body and the psyche. (46)

This is a nice lead-in to my discussion of Simon Jordan, but what is significant about Jonas's statement here is the freedom through which Jeremiah and Grace Marks - the novel's suggested possessors of gnosis - presently enjoy the rewards of their "good deeds." What is also significant about this "pneumatic morality," however, is that one senses the superiority of their own hand; and the contempt for those around them. Atwood's Grace is very subtle in this regard: of the prison guards who taunt her, for example, she deems their sexuai jokes as belonging to "a low class of petson" (Alias Grace 64); and later, as the conpgation looks in judgment upon Nancy Montgomery for her relationship with Thomas

Kinnear, Gme notes:

"[tlhese are cold and proud people, and not good neighbours. They are hypocrites, they think the church is acage to keep Godin, so he will stay loçked up there and not go wandering about the earth during the week, poking his nose into their business, and lwking into the depihs and darkness and doubleness of their hearts, and their Iack of true charity. (254)

And yet ironically, despite the contempt she shows toward those around her, we as readers

are ultimately left with the unsettling recognition that -just ris Simon must place his trust in

Grace's nanative - we too must do the same. Given that hth Grace and Jererniah have

revealed themselves to be proponents of trickery en masse, the novel itself is very self-

reflexive on this point. "Perhaps 1 will tell you lies," Grace cautions Simon in one of their

earliest sessions (41); but the reader knows, as Simon does, that '"w]e will just have to take

that chance." Failing the Gnosis Test: Simon Jordan and the Gnostic Potential He must be careful, he tells himself. He must draw back. hked at objectively, what's been going on between hem, despite her evident anxiety over the murders and her surface compliance, has been a contest of wills. She hasn't refused to talk - far from it. She's told him a great deal; but she's told him only what she's chosen to tell. What he wants is what she refuses to tell; what she chooses perhaps not even to know. Knowledge of guilt, or else of innocence: either could be concealed. But he'll pry it out of her yet. He's got the hook in her mouth, but can he pull her out? Up, out of the abyss, up to the light. Out of the deep blue sea. He wonders why he's thinking in such drastic tenns. He means her well, he tells himself. He thinks of it as a rescue, surely he does. But does she? if she has anything to hide, she may want to stay in the water, in the dark, in her element. She may be afraid that she won't be able to breathe, otherwise. Simon tells himself to stop king so extreme and histnonic. Tt may well be that Grace is a true amnesiac. Or simply contracy. Or simply guilty. She could, of course, be insane, with the astonishingly devious plausibility of the experienced maniac. Some of her memories, especially those of the day of the murders, would suggest a fanaticism of the religious viuiety. (Atwood, Alias Grace 322) 60

1have notedearlier that in heruse of Gnostic myth in Alias Grace, Margaret Atwood has displayed a broad knowledge of discussions uniting psychological theory and spirituai practice. 1have broached dso the heretical teachings of Mary Whitney and Jeremiah the peddler in the novel, explaining their significance in relation to the novel's myth-as- narrative-strategy arc. Kaving ken conscious of those relationships, it is in a similu vein that Atwood's inclusion of the fictive Simon Jordan effectively maps a space between the clinical and the Gnostic - in doing so, challenging the science by which the unknown self is purported to be understd, but satisfying also what teaders recognize as Gmce's individuation. He is also found in the Simon and Helen myth known to the Gnostics as the figure of Simon Magus, sent to rescue Helen, his Thought, €rom the depths of chaos.

Initially, Atwood's effort to use ihis space informs a familiarity with what was occurring historically: "interest in aberrant States of mind, and in the workings of the psyche," she wites, "was intense dwing the whole of the nineteenth century" ("Ophelia Has a Lot to

Answer For"). Additionaliy however, Alias3 use of theory engenders other questions pertaining to that larger, coIlective memory known as "history." The connection may not immediately become apparent, yet the processes, Atwood notes, are the same. "For history, as for the individual," she says, "forgetting can be just as convenient as remembering [. ..].

As a rule, we tend to remember the awful things done to us and to focget the awful things we did" ("In Search of Alias Grace" 1505). The novel's attempt to encapdate this and to show

- at least in part - that Gt;tce too may be the victim of memory's selective nature, reminds us that much of what we rhink we know is often the product of the faith we place in those accounts. 6 1

In Atwood's fiction however, memory is also design; and for the purpose of my discussion here, this is the area in which 1wish to direct the most focus; for "what is told by

[Grace] to an audience of one, Dr. Simon Jordan [. . .] is selective," the author tells us.

Mostty, "[. . .] it is dependent on what she remembers [. . .] or is it what she says she remembers [. . .]? And how can her audience tell the difference?" (1515). Having established earlier that an individuai's memory is shaped as much by the act of forgetting as it is one's willingness to forget, the readercomes to recognize, just as Simon does, that often it is necessary to take that chance (Alias Grace 41). For her part, Atwood enjoys playing with uncertainty. Focusing largely on what we know of the "self' or unconscious as keeper of those events, characters such as Simon Jordan bring to the novel questions w hich are still

highly pertinent, for "what is the self - the 'character' - without a rnore-or-less continuous

memory of itself," Atwood asks; "what is the novel without the self?" ("In Search of Alias

Grace" 15M). in his view, the studies this would entai1 become central to the progress of

the human condition: and "the nineteenth century, he concluded, would be to the study of

Mind what the eighteenth had ken to the study of Matter - an Age of Enlightenment [. ..].

He was proud to be part of such a major advance in knowledge, if only in a very srnail and

humble way " (Alias Grace 300).

So, how do we, as readers, negotiate our path through al1 of this? On one hand, we

could say that Atwood is simply king historical here, rnirroring crises of faith that were

taking place in both Canada and the United States at the time of the murders. Ceaainly her

awareness of anxieties forming toward issues such as madness and psychoanaiytic theories

- not to mention a general uncertainty toward matters of Scriptuse - offered her the 62 opportunity to display her knowledge of those fields. Altematively, however, we find in

those debates a heightened potential for fiction, for what betîer to challenge one's knowledge

of the self or unconscious than to approach it from very different perspectives. Simon's faith

in reason, or in the measurable and deductible - embodied here as medical opinion -stands

in stark contrast to what Atwood presents as Grace's hopes for a Gnostic redemption, just

as the novel's inclusion of Reverend Vemnger, Mrs. Quennell, and Susanna Moodie also

serves specific functions. Ironicdly, Simon the psychologist's task is the same. Both he and

the Gnostic attempt to answer the my stenes of the universe in his or her own way, as do

those who might follow Magnetism, Mesmerism, or orthodox Christianity. How this plays

out in the novel, however, is as important to the foundation of those relationships as it is to

Atwood's comment on the value of histoticd "fact."

This action is not, however, without a specific plan in mind. Juxtaposing Simon's

exploration of the unconscious with Grace's sinular quest for self-knowledge - or more

specifically, locating the former's psychologicai objectives within Gnostic myth - Atwood

subverts the disciplinary authority of conventionai psychiatnc diagnoses by emphasizing the

importance of Grace's spiritual needs over assumed or projected notions of physical and

mental well-being. Driven to believe that hers is an affiiction of the unconscious mind - something in need of king remedied - Simon fails to recognize Alias Grace's penchant for

altematepossibilih'es. Indeed, Grace's initial hesitancy to speak, we find, is not so much a

desire to withhold knowledge of past events as it is her carefully-guided attempt to secure

a better future for herself. Failing to achieve the same &gree of self-knowledge, however,

fin& Simon iinïving at the Iimitations of a scientific as opposed to spiritual mind. This conflict is highlighted most succinctly in the following passage, in which Jeremiah - using the alias Dr. Jerome DuPont - questions the former on his conclusions about Grace Marks:

"1have not drawn any concIusions, as yet," says Simon. "In any case, 1am less concemed in [Grace's] guilt or innocence, than in [. . .]" "Than in the mechanisms at work," says Dr. DuPont. "That is not quite how I would put it," says Simon. "It is not the tune played by the musical box, but the little cogs and wheels within it, that concem you." "And you?" says Simon, who is beginning to find Dr. DuPont more interesting. "Ah," says DuPont. "For me, it is not even the box, with its pretty pictures on the outside. For me it is only the music. The music is played by a physicd object; and yet the music is not that object. As Scripture says, 'The wind bloweth where it listeth."' "St. John," says Mrs. Quennell. "'That which is boni of the Spirit is spirit."' "'And that which is bom of the flesh is flesh,"' says DuPont [. . .]. (Alias Grace 85)

Given Grace's retrospective extension of this comment - that "al1 flesh is weak (1 17) - we

begin to see the novel's subversion of science in place of the spintual; observing that as

science's knowledge of the mind progressed, so tw did the Iine between knowledge and faith

also shift. When considering the Wew offered by Simon Jordan, however, the regard for

one's spiritual needs is notably absent. "The Universe was indeed a mysterious place,"

Simon says, reflecting upon the Reverend Vemnger's sermon; "but God had blessed mari

with a rnind, the better to understand whatever mysteries were tnily within his

comprehension" (300). Yet this is precisely the sentiment that Grace's narrative cautions

against. Indeed, Gnosticism would tell us that me wisdom or gnosis is derived from

recognizing the limits of our human knowledge. Grace would ceaainly seem to know this,

but does not express it vocaüy; for hers is a faith rooted in self-contemplation, rather than

in the greatness of man. Ironicaiiy, we lem that while Simon is both empowered and 64 aroused at the thought of "rescuing" Grace, it is the reversai of power achieved through

Gnosticism which suggests that it is he, ironically, who cannot be saved. In doing so,

Atwood seeks to bridge a unique relaiionship between Grace's perspective and Simon's in the way that each deals with the knowledge given to them. Through Gnosticism, Atwood can deliver Grace Marks into a more other-worldly state, for hers is secret knowledge, striving to maintain a separation between the "public" and the "pnvate"; and in doing so, cultivating what we are led to recognize as the divine spark within. Simon's objective, we assume, is somewhat more worldly: emphasizing man's triumph of reason over what was created by God. In feminist tenns, this strategy favors, above al1 else, the idea of affording

Grace the opportunity to rescue herself, rather than depending on a patriarchal system to do it for her. While her physical freedom is achieved in the novel by supporters who petition for her release, readers familiar with this strategy recognize by this point in the novel that much of the freedom achieved is accomplished far earlier by Grace, on her own spiritual terms. Positioning Grace's world in relation to what is occurring around her, then, is a task of some effort for the author. For despite similarities, there exists also a great discrepancy

between the inner and "outer" worlds.

Uniting the spiritual and the scientific in Alias Grace finds Atwood operating on

different, yet surprisingly similar levels. There are, particularly with the novel's treatment

of the individual, some obvious parallels: among them, the rnanner by which Atwood's use

of psychology suggests a penchant for Jung's discussions of the unconscious. From the

standpoint of narrative strategy, ihis seems a logicai inclusion, as it is well documenteci that

Car1 Jung was strongly influenced by explorations in Gnostic literature, and moreover, that his works sought to find spiritual explanations for phenornena which Freud's theories ignored. Secondly, it is worthy of note that Northrop Frye discusses Gnosticism to acertain extent (The Great Code 112), as does Robertson Davies, an explicit Jungian, in Fifth

Business or The Deptford Trilogy; and together this awareness allows for a spiritual counterpoint to Simon's positioning of medical, scientific opinion.

So, it was present in literature and social ideology, but there were other attractions as well: In June Singer's Seeing Throrrgh the Visible World, she explains that psychologically - at least for Jung - an understanding of the self through Gnosticism

[. ..] led him to see the individual as divided in two. One part is associated with the visible world and functions through day-to-day activities by means of a practical consciousness that mediates thoughts and feelings as environmental conditions [. . .]. The other part is the Self, that aspect [. . .] [which] yeams toward the timeless dimension of the universe that can transcend the everyday concerns and view life 'under the aspect of eternity' [. . .]. [As such, we find] [. . .] fundamental gnostic questions Who am I? Where did 1come from? For what purpose am 1 hm? What is my destiny? are basically about Self-knowledge, the sine qua non for understanding the outer world and for affirming the connection with the unknown God [. . .]. (Singer 147)

Certainly, given past novels such as Tlie Edible Woman or Su$acing, this idea of Gnostic dualism must have appealed to Atwood. Here, as in the novel's designs for Grace Marks, the questions of Gnostic destiny as told in relation to an individual consciousness reflect what Jung identified as an inherent similarity between the two endeavors. Indeed, Singer explains this fuaher, noting that

Clearly it was no mere happenstance that Jung studied Gnosticism with great interest andcare, and that gnostic myths andsymbols informedhis thinking about the greater Seif- the archetype of wholeness that underlies ego-consciousness. The Seif, as Jung understood it, is comparable to the gnostic concept of the alien and unknown God [. . .]. What the Gnostics sought was an understanding of their place in the visible world and theü role in bringing to consciousness the invisible world. They realized, to their eternal credit, that the invisible world existed within themselves, and that îherefore within themselves lay the promise and the potentiai for wholeness. One way in which they lived this out was in their recognition that the ferninine principk and the masculine principle - in visible world terms, men and women - were equal before God and equally necessary to achieve the balanced state of wholeness that they sought to attain. Women, îherefore, from the beginning of the gnostic consciousness, held an equal role with men in every aspect of their spirituai life. (Singer 98-9)

The Gnostic's desire to uncover knowledge about himself or herself is reaily akin to what modem psychology attempts to do, dbeit accomplished in the former on a more mythic level. Utilizing that mythology in Alias Grace is perhaps the novel's greatest subtlety.

Under Gnosticism, Atwood's Grace can achieve a universal station higher than that of her accusers - iûentifying with the pater, unknown God who is beyond the Christian God

@erniurge) - while also subverting the curiosity of Victorian Society by codifying that narrative. Before such a strategy can be enabled, however, the relationship between Gnce and Simon must overcome the gulf between spiritual myth and psychology. June Singer describes this in tems of the masculine and ferninine principles, explaining that both are necessary to achieve a state of wholeness. Indeed, this much would seem to be tme in the novel as well. Simon Jordan must be initiated into Grace's world, for his ability - or his inability -Co recognize that myth is ultimately, as 1shall explain shortly, the means by which

Cirace's true (spiritual) fate is decided in the novel.

Unfortunately for Simon Jordan, the road to gnosis - we are led to understand - is difficult, for the simple reason that its initiarion is difficult. Often, Simon's first experiences with Gnosticism arrive in the form of dreams, where he imagines, in typical Gnostic fashion, a plunge into the âepths of the unconscious; communicated in Alias Grace through the use of traditional Gnostic symbols. Initially, huedrem are highiy eroticized. They are, as Jung would Say, "the voice of the Unknown, that ever threatens with new schemes, new dangers, sacrifices, warfare, and other troublesotne ihings" (Jung, Psychology and Religion

21). And this is not surprising - for uuth, as it is understood in Gnosticism, emerges from

the depths of unconsciousness, but appears "clothed in symbols," primarily because language

is a human consuuct; and ûuth - according to many Gnostics - cannot be known in any other way. The same would appear mie for Simon as well. Immediately upon hearing of the

departure of Grace's father in her story, he sleeps, imagining that

The dwr at the end opens. inside it is the sea. Before he can stop himself, down he goes, the water closing over his head, a Stream of silvery bubbles rising from him. In his ears he hem a ringing, a faint and shivery laughter; then many han& caress him. It's the maids; only they cm swim. But now they are swimming away from him, abandoning him. He calls out to them, Help me, but they are gone. He's clinging onto something: a broken chair. The waves are rising and falling. Despite the turbulence there is no wind, and the air is piercingly clear. Past him, just out of reach, various objects are floating: a silver ûay; a pair of candiesticks; a mirror [. ..] a gold watch [. . .], Things that were his father's once, but sold after his death. They're rising up from the depths like bubbles [. . .]. He watches in horror, because now they're gathering, twining together, re-forming. Tentacles are growing. A &ad hand. His father, in the sinuous process of coming back to life. He has an overwhelming sense of having transgressed. He wakes, his hart is pouding; the sheets and cornforter are tangled around him, the pillows are on the floor. He's soaked with sweat. After he's lain quietly for a time, reflecting, he hinks he understands the train of association that must have led to such a ciream. It was Grace's story, with its Atlantic crossing, its burial at sea, its catalogue of household objects; and the overbearing father, of course. (Alias Grace 140).

Here we find severai things. Of primary consideration is Atwood's use of the sea or turbid

water; a standard symbol in Gnosticism for one's âescent into matter orchaos. Beyond this,

however, Simon's presence in these âepths is aiso important. Such adescent, as it is known

among the Gnostics, holds its origins accountable to many divergent speculations. Of one

in particular - suggested by Simon's feelings of bondage or seduction in the novel, 1look to 68 Manichaeism, where, as Hans Jonas explains, the images are usually violent; but, as for the descent itself, "1. . .] the whole pmcess is initiated by the powers of darkness, [although] there is a voluntary element [. . .] with various motivations such as curiosity, vanity, [and] sensual desire [. ..IN (Jonas 63). Given that Rachel Humphrey, his impromptu lover, appears

"[. . .] dressed in black [. ..] her veil [blowing] out behind her like dark smoke," one could assign the responsibility for that descent to her; and yet, with his actions, Atwood makes it clear that Simon too "[. . .] says no when he means yes. He means more, he means further, fie means deeper" (Alias Grace 365).

This idea of reaching dom, or plunging under, is central to our understanding of

Atwood's fictive psychologist. "How far, exactly, will he go?" Simon asks himself. "How

far in?" (366). Initially, his sumame suggests that he has the potential to cross Jordan, yet

his willful exploration of the lower world would suggest, ultimately, that these aspects of his

character are as much a part of his failure to cross Jordan in the novel as is any other force.

While this "plunging under" is read by Simon in Alias Grace as the activity of his

unconscious mind, those familiar with Atwood's pattern by this point understand it as his

descent into the Gnostic depths of chaos - giving in to his sensual nature. In terms of the

greater Gnostic structure, the initial cause for this is cosmic in origin. Indeed, those such as

Stefan Rossbach and Hans Jonas have noted that for several Gnostic systems, "[. . .] the

cosmos is the world of death,"

the world is not simply a negation of life, it is actively evil, a positive force, an enemy of divinity; but if humans are more powerful than the creator of the cosmos, than their acceptance of the tems and conditions of cosmic existence requires their ignorance. The world itself is a force of datkness which is actively trying to prevent hurnans hmobtaining knowledge of their divine nature. [. ..] Especially with their main weapon of love, eros, the cosmic powers know how to lead hurnans into their earthiy involvement, which is possible only because of their numbness, ignorance, unawareness, sleep and dninkenness [. . .]. (Rossbach 53)

Simon himself would seem to know both sides: he envisions cities where "he would be anonymous, and [. ..] [where] he would be able to lose himself completely" (Alias Grace

366); and yet also recognizes that "[olnce he's with Grace, things are a little better, as he can still delude himself by flowishing his own sense of purpose" (291). Such moments of eniightenment give the reader an indication of Simon's me potential. Contemplating the reasons for women's fascination in him, Atwood writes that "[alfter a time he thought he

knew. It was knowledge they craved; yet they could not admit to craving it, because it was

forbidden knowledge - knowledge with a lurid glare to it. He has been where they could

never go, seen what they could never see; he has opened up women's bodies, and peered

inside" (Alias Grace 82). Amusingly, Atwood does not allow Simon to form a complete

connection between this thought and his relationship to Grace, or to his own sense of gnosis.

Instead, the deeper he goes into the sensual side of his nature, the more prominently we find

it manifested, both in the dream world and in the waking world. This is shown most clearly

in the novel when

He goes to bed, and sleeps at once. Then he's drearning; an uneasy dream. He's in a fenced yard where laundry flaps on a line. No one else is there, which gives him a sensation of clandestine pleasure. The sheets and linens move in the wind, as if wom by invisible swelling hips; as if alive. As he watches - he must be a boy, he's short enough to be looking upwards - a scarf or a veil of white muslin is blown from the line and undulates gracefully through the air like a long bandage unrolling, or like paint in water. He nins to catch it, out of the yd,down the road - he's in the country, then - and into a field. An orchard. The cloth has entangled in the branches of a small tree covered with green apples. He tugs it down andit falis across his face; and then he understands that it isn't cloth at aii but hair, the long hgrant hair of an unseen woman, which is twining around his neck. He struggles; he is king closely embraced; he can scarcely breathe. The sensation is painhl iuid almost unbearably erotic, and he wakes with a jolt. (Alias Grace 195) Simon's distraction hmthe close proximity of apples in his dream by the more tempting prospect of hair affims a juxtaposition between sexuality and knowledge as instruments of temptation; and in his case, the triumph of one over the other. Later, when he is awake,

Simon cornments of feminine sexuality that "he's tempted to succumb. He would choose one of their proffered young ladies, the richest one"; and that in doing so,

His daily life woutd be orderly, his breakfasts would be edible, his children would be respectful. The act of procreation would be undergone, unseen, prudently veiled in white Cotton - she, dutiful but properly averse, he within his rights - but need never be mentioned, His home would have ail the modem comforts, and he himself would be sheltered in velvet. There are worse fates. (89)

Yet, this is the very îhing ihat Gnosticism advocates against, particularly because it is an obstacle to achieving gnosis. Atwood cannot resist the sexual pun here either, as Simon's

fate indeed unfolds as something wone: notably, the aforementioned degraded relationship

with his landlady, Rachel Humphrey. Though his dreams, the figure of Grace is forcing him

to reflect on sornething - an awareness of something that is present, yet unable to approach

beyond the peripherai consciousness. Readers might Wew it as placing the role of women

central here. Jung, however, might more appropriately identify it as the female aspect of the

male psyche presenting itself (Humphries 21).

Through Simon's battle between ignorance (his sensual nature) and gnosis (the spark

he begins to identify with Grace), Atwood suggests the Gnostic potential within each of us

to cultivate our divine origins: a potential that is onIy realized by engaging in that solitary

process of self-awûreness. Traditionally in Gnosticism, this is accomplished by engaging

solely with irnmediate experience and observation, and not by relying upon earthly illusions

of tmth or fulfillment such as family life or sexual relationships. Elaine Pagels explains this further, noting that

in each human king is a dwelling place, 'and that in him dwells an infinite power 1. ..] the root of the universe.' But since that infinite powerexists in two modes, one actual, the other potentid, so this infinite power 'exists in a latent condition in everyone,' but 'potentidly, not actuaily' (Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels 134-5).

1emphasize here "potentidly,not actually," only because this is so important to what occurs in the novel. Mile unconsciously, Simon recognizes the connection he is drawing to Grace

- and later reads those experiences through a fmmework of psychoanalytic theory - his conscious mind is less open to those ideas. The reason for this is perhaps explaineci by the perspective to which he has grown accustomed.

Exploring the difficulty Simon Jordan has recognizing Grace's adopted ideology,

it is useful to refer once again to Elaine Pagels's discussions of the subject; that

this religious perspective differentiates gnosticism notonly from orthodoxy, but dso, for ail the sirnilatities, from psychotherapy, for most members of the psychotherapeutic profession follow Freud in refusing to attribute red existence to the figments of imagination. They do not regard their attempt to discover what is within the psyche as equivaient to discovering the secrets of the universe. But many gnostics, like many artists, search for interior self-knowledge as the key to understanding universal tmths - "who we are, where we came from, where we go." According to the Book of Thomas the Contender, "whoever has not known himself has known nothing, but he who has known himself at the sarne time already achieved pis] knowledge about the depth of al1 things." (134)

In this we find the distance that lies between Simon and Grace: Simon's search foranswers

takes place on a relatively iimited scale, whereas Atwood's Grace concems herself primatily

with more introspective questions. Additionally, RD. Laing would tell us that Grace's

concems mirror distinctions often made between the embodied and unembodied se& and

ihat indeed, one might go Merto iiiustrate that the opinions of Grace's inner, embodied

self, and its contempt for the exterior body, is in many ways akin to the Gnostics' own 72 dislike for corporeai or carnai forms (71). Granted, much of the above is, arguably, in apparent contradiction to Atwood's initial methodology of drawing only from what is explicitly suggested by its time; andin particular, events in the novel seem to predate Freud's contributions by way of psychoanalytic theory. Why, then, would she include it here? To answer this, she reminds us that "[. ..] we tend to think of Freud as a great innovator, but the tmth is that he himself rested [. . .] on a huge body of theoretical howledge which hiid accumulated before his time. Even the famous Unconscious had made its appearance zit least seven decades earlier" (Atwood, "Ophelia Was a Lot to Answer For"). Moreover, because the Simon Jordan we find in the novel "[. . .] has studied in London and Paris [, . .] [with] access to the most advanced thinking of his time," it is assumed that the most modem aspects of psychology would be available to him.

Among Simon's first considerations of Grace's character, as noted in the epigraph

to this chapter, is the possibility that she is mad. Atwood is working on two levels here: the

desire to diagnose Grace, suggested by both her real and invented chacacters' eagemess to

do just that, is, she suggests, just as prominent today as it was at the time of the murders. It

is also a valid approach; one Atwood both seems to expect and encourage. Terms such as

"multiple personalities," "amnesia," or "saçiopath" were each, in some form, inherent ta mid-

nineteenth century advances in psychology; and, implicitly, stand in direct relation to the

character we discover. And yet Atwood carries another awareness here tw: a second play

on "madness" whose roots may be found in the novei's recognition that

when mad, at least in Literature, you aren't yourself; you take on another self, a self that is either not you at aii, or a tmrmore elemental one than the person you're used to seeing in the &or. You're in danger of becoming, [as] in Shakespeare's works, a [. . .] beast, and in Susanna Moodie's words, a mere machine; or else you may become an inspired prophet, a ûuth-sayer, a shaman, one who oversteps the boundiines of the ordinarily visible or audible, and ah,andespecially, the ordinarily sayable. (Atwood, "Ophelia Has a Lot to Answer For")

It is here that the relationship between Simon and Gram transgresses into Gnostic temitory.

Free to explore how her version of Grace might be saved, Atwood takes her character outside the visible world and beyond conventional boundaries of medicine or thought. Ironically, the psychologist sent to chronicle the truth about the murders is also the one who is given

this spiritual knowledge; yet, in his attempt to reason through the "malady" itself, he

misreads the evidence before him because the tools given to him are inadequate.

So what is Atwood trying to accomplish between them, then? In part, it seems she

is relying heavily upon Gnostic myths such as that of Simon and Helen - and Simonian doctrine - as a structure for that relationship. Given the circumstances of Grace's

imprisoment, and the hmh treatment she hacorne to know there, the reasoning for this is

clear:"[t]he earliest Gnostic systems were to some extent systems of reassurance," R.M.

Grant tells us; adding: "Patterned after Christianity, Sirnonianism recognized the presence

of God in Simon and in the Sirnonian. Sdvation was achieved by disregarding conventional

moraiity and by setiing one's hope on him and the mother-figure Helen" (Gnosticism &

Early Christianity 97). Reading this, one would assume Atwood is thinking in terms of

Grace's ability to survive her more immediate concerns; and that a potential union of sorts

between herself and Simon Jordan would be the source of her salvation. Awood hints at this

as well: "It cornes to him [Simon] that Grace Marks is the only woman he's ever met that he

would wish to marry" (Mas Grace 388), she writes, but before such a relationship is

physically actualized, Simon buies the idea. Stili, it would appear that he is intended hete 74 to fulfiU the role of Simon Magus, as he is represented in Gnostic thought. There, he is a

magician; a miracle worker or Father over ail; a savior or Logos idea, with Helen serving as

his First Thought. This is certainly in keeping with what Atwood presents as the pair's

relationship in Alias Grace, and moreover, G.R.S. Mead ex plains that "Helen was the human

sou1 fallen into matter and Simon the mind which brings about her redemption" (Mead 168).

And as 1have already established, this is what - psychologicaily - Simon Jordan sets out to do for Grace.

And yet, there are things unanswered. 1s the light toward which Simon attempts to

pull Grace the same Iight she desires? Presumably not. The fishing metaphor cited in the

epigraph to this chapter would seem to suggest a psychologicai - and Christian - redemption

alien to the one sought by Grace herself. Furthermore, Atwood's Simon is aware that "1. .

.] there are his own requirements [to consider]. There is passion in Gnce somewhere, he's

certain of it, although it would take some hunting for. And she'd be grateful to him" (Alias

Grace 388). And sol the salvation Simon has in mind for Grace seems quite different from

her own. Yet, it seems reasonable that Margaret Atwood would turn to Gnosticism and the

Simon and Helen myth: not only for its exploration of ignorance and chaos versus gnosis,

but also, as a vehicle fmm which to explore the surrounding issue of Grace's imprisonment

and peers. For although there is chaos in the depths - depths understood by Simon as the

central nervous system - he seems to understand that in addition to the "shadowy central den

where the human bones lie scattered and the monsters lurk," there lie "the angels also. Also

the angels" (187): an apparent reference to the archons of Gnosticism who seek to keep

mankind subdued in camai lust and ignorance. So, what is Simon's function here? To answer this, one must consider that "[tlhe soul's main concern is to escape the terrible archons, and rather than meet them face to face she likes to slip by them unnoticed if she cm" (Jonas 135). Such tcickery would seem to imply that Grace's narrative is designed to impart that secret knowledge, but ultimately, to maintain an eye on what she and Jeremiah recognize as "the higher mith," Simon's assistance is essential.

As a resource, Simon Jordan, and Simon Magus, allows Atwood to mythologize history in a manner similar to Melville's Moby Dick: that is, by narrating her story in ternis of Gnostic myth and symbols, Grace somehow escapes the trappings that have been defined for her as the processes of history itself; and, as 1 shall explain shortly, perhaps even retuming to Genesis to write a more favorable one. For what is history without its use of language, or of names. Truth, Atwood suggests, arises from the ability to answer those

Gnostic questions 1 mentioned earlier, and it is an individual truth bearing little or no resemblance to what is offered by way of canonicd history and memory, for al1 too often - as Atwood found in Moodie's wntings - those accounts are by nature selective, or unreliable.

As such, truth, as it is presented in the novel, arrives largely as symbol: facilitated not as

interpersonal relationships, but primarily through Grace's accounts of immediate, tactile experience. To reach this point, Grxe comes to depend on Simon Jordan as the one who

will Save her: he who will serve as the masculine to her feminine principle.

But what does Simon Save us hm? The Chnstians Say that Jesus saves from sin, €rom the law, fiom principdities and powers, hmdeath. But we Simonians Say the same thing in a different way [. .-1. Simon gives us third-worldly salvation. And if we ask how this salvation is effected, we lem that it coma through the recognition of Simon andHelen, and through the rejection of conventional moraiity. The angels who made the world wanted to enslave men, just as they had enslâved Helen. They therefore gave commandments such as those found in law used by Jews and Samaritans alike. We, who have "set our hope" on Simon and Helen, are "saved by his grace, not by just works" (aquotation fromEphesians 2.8-9), and we are therefore Free to do what we wish. (Grant 88)

Certainly here, this is what Atwood would like to achieve in the novel; to excuse Grace from the judgments of conventional morality by placing her outside that morality. And from this myth, we come to recognize a larger structure: Atwood's subversion of moral order withiri the Victorian world, led in Alias Grace by foregrounding in her protagonist's tale a non- canonical account of Creation, The Fdl, and redemption.

The final correspondence with Simon anderace in the novel finds that the former has completely fallen back into matter: into a tomdsexual relationship with his landlady, Rachel

Humphrey. As he reaches the very edge of that state - and in his desperate cetreat hmit - he envisions Grace

coming towards him across a wide lawn in sunshine, al1 in white, carrying an armful of red flowers: they are so clear he can see the dewdrops on them. Her hair is loose, her bm feet; she's smiling. Then he sees that what she walks on is not grass but water; and as he reaches to embrace her, she melts away like mist. (413)

Here, the mythic structure Atwood sets up is fulfilled: Simon's descent has brought about.

Grace's ascent. Simon the Redeemer has completed his task, although it is an accomplishment achieved very differently than what he had initiaily imagined: performed outside traditional methodologies, on a mythologicai or spiritual level. Indeed, it is Simon and not Grace who has failed to cross Jordan. And the Myth-of-Going-Forth - in the terms

1 shall use to explain it - is finally realized in Alias Grace in terms that are beneficial to

Grace only, because she alone has maintained the Gnostic discipline. v

The Gospel According to Grace Simon:

Grace's will is of the negative femde variety - she can deny and reject much more easily than she can affirrn or accept. Somewhere within herself - he's seen it, if only for a moment, that conscious, even cunning look in the corner of her eye - she knows she's concealing something from him. As she stitches away at her sewing, outwardly calm as a marble Madonna, she is al1 the while exerting her passive stubbm strength against him. A prison does not only lock its inmates inside, it keeps aii others out. Her strongest prison is of herown construction. (Atwood, Alias Grace 362)

Grace:

While 1 am sitting out on the veranda in the afternoons, 1 sew away at the quilt 1am making. Although I've made many quilts in my day, this is the first one I've ever done for myself. It is a Tree of Paradise; but 1 am changing the pattem a Little to suit my own ideas. I've thought a good deal about you and your apple, Sir, and the riddle you once made, the very fiwt time that we met. 1didn't undetstand you then, but it must have been that you were trying to teach me something, and perhaps by now 1 have guessed it. The way 1 understand things, the Bible may have been thought out by God, but it was written down by men. And like everything men write down, such as the newspapers, they got the main story right but some of the details wrong. The pattem of this quilt is called the Tree of Pmdise, and whoever named that pattern said better than she knew, as the Bible does not say Trees. It says there were two different trees, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge; but 1believe there was only the one, and that the Fruit of Life and the Fruit of Good and Evil were the same. And if you ate of it you would die, but if you didn't eat of it you woulddie dso; although if you did eat of it, you would be les bone-ignorant by the time you got around to your death. Such an arrangement would appear to be more the way life is. 1 am telling this to no one but you, as 1 am aware it is not the approved reading. (Atwood, Alias Grace 459) 79

Earlier in this thesis, 1 refer to Hans Jonas's description of Gnosticism as "the emphasis on knowledge [in the Gnostic movements] as the means for the attainment of salvation, or even as the form of saivation itself [. . .]" (Jonas 32). 1also acknowledge the

"radical dualism" Jonas observes in Gnostic conceptions of existence - binaries separating

"God and the world, spirit and matter, sou1 and body, light and darkness, good and evil, life and death." Having aiready reviewed then, the novel's penchant for recognizing connections between Gnostic belief and Jungian psychology, and eisewhere, Jeremiah's function as

World-savior, rescuing "al1 who have the light-spark within them" (Mead 179), 1 apply my

focus here to Grace Marks herself. Specifically, 1 intend to discuss how Atwood

accomplishes a Gnostic revision of Alias Grace's centrai character and, additionaily, what

sorne of the implications of this restnicturing might be (particularly with an eye for narrative

strategies incorporated therein). Using Atwood's 1979 stage play "Grace'* as a point of

departure then, 1examine the steps taken by Atwood to develop a version of Grace Marks

that best secures her own feminist ideais, while also revisiting how her foray in Gnosticism

mines a largercrisis offaith that unfalded during the mid-nineteenth century. Integral to this

discussion is Atwood's use of Gnostic rnythology to shape Grace's moral character; mosr

visibly, through Sirnonian readings of sdvation, but dso, through reinterpretations of the

Genesis creation myth found in both ûrphic and Valentinian teachings. In doing so, the

extent of the novel's matnarchal (or at the very least its anti-parriarchal)position is revealed,

so that Margaret Atwood's construction becomes, then, an image not unlike Grace's "Tree

of Paradise*'design: a powerhl lriumvirate of outcast women, secretly united as one. Doing

so not only establishes aclever feminist strategy on Atwood's part -allowing her to subvert a highly-gendered, hostile environment for women in Canadian history by re-imagining the circumstances more in Grace's favor - but it evokes something else as well: what 1 shall outiine here as "'ïhe Gospel According to Grrice."

As an introduction, then, I end where Grace begins. Retuming to Atwood's stage play, one notices that the version of Grace Marks we find in the novel begins to reveal itself.

Following the description of Grace given by Moodie in Life in the Clearings,Atwood's 1979 play initially seems to offer little by way of differentiation from its parent fonn; and yet, unlike Moodie's portrayai, or even that of Atwood's earlier teleplay, it is here that Grace's

moral ambiguity first takes shûpe. In context, the following monologue appears as a quiet

moment in the play: an opportunity in which Grace's future in the Kinnear household rnight

be contemplated. By itself, however, it supports a greater uncertainty. Of greater things.

I've always tried to do what's right. 1was brought up that way, though. We believed in doing what's fair andright. It's harder for the poor to do what's right [. .-1. But [life in the colony] isn't like 1expected. Look out the window, MacDermot (sic) [. . .] there's nothing out there [. ..] nothing. And it goes on and on. Sometimes at night 1feel iike i'm stiil shut up in the darkness of the boat, just floating and floating, and if 1 tried to go out of this house it would be just like the ocean, it would be nothing. 1feel I'm drowning. It's the snow, we never had that at home [. ..] it takes the sou1 out of me somehow. It's blasphemous, I know, but when 1 look out of the window 1 think: there's no God out there. There's no one to see what you do. (Atwood, "Grace" 3 1)

Here, the Grace we find ho1ds a far greater complexity than found elsewhere in Atwood's

writing. Even Susanna Moodie, whose version relies on a sordid tale of lust and jealousy to

force Grace's hand to its conclusion, seems weaker somehow. Notably, however, there are

two things going on in this passage: kt,Atwood is still working through the Frygian

consciousness that pervaded much of Canadian literary studies during the 1970s. 81 Responding ôoth to the idea of Grace Marks as the "transplanted Ewopean," and to the fears of the landscape itself, Atwood is drawing parallels here between Grace's immigrant experience and Moodie's. Citing the many spiritual dilemmas felt by the latter during her lifetime, John Thurston notes, as Grace does, that Moodie's "crime may have ben to ignore the 'mysterious warnings' of Providence [that she shouid not have come] [. . -1. With no figure of spiritual authority to contradict that thought, with so many examples of English gentry degraded by the bush, and with her values insulted by al1 she saw of the colony, there were no more guarantees of momi choice [. . .]" ('The Casket of Tnith" 6). Moodie's view of Grace is as an immoral woman, but only if she is judged according to conventional morality. This is another discussion involving moral displacement. Citing Northrop Frye's observations of European value systems in the colony - and the patterns they exhibit in

Canadian fiction, WilliamClosson James notes that such "imports [. . .] were bound to create in the immigrant to Canada a feeling that nature is threatening and hostile." Moreover,

"inciifference in the landscape," he tells us, mates "an identity driven to the 1st stand of total isolation [. ..] [and will] define itself only by extinction unless it can make some effort of rebirth" (James 64). Grace's attempts to do this much brings us to my second point: we see in this passage the emergence of a Gnostic outlook or perspective; an aspect of Grace's character later crucial to the Alias Grace's narrative strategy. For the imprisoned and already-criminalized Grace, this development would have been attractive to Margaret

Atwood as, until this time, she says, those who supported the historical Grace Marks during the trial saw not an inteliigent young girl, but instead, "were promoting the idea of her simple-rnindedness [. ..] [for this] would teli more in her favor, [despite the fact that] it was obvious from her later history that she was not at ail simple-minded" (Atwood, "Natural

Born Quiiter").

It is useful, then, in this description of Grace's "evolution" to compare the earlier

passage from "Grace" with another fiom Alias Grace, for which the pardlels between them

-and the new considerations forced - becomes apparent. The passage in question occurs in

the novel as Grace and James McDermott make theirescape in the night to the United States

following the rnurders, during which Grace remarks:

But then 1 looked, a part of [the sky] began to wrinkle up, like the Sun on scalding milk; but harder and more brittle, and pebbled, like a dark beach, or like black silk crepe; and then the sky was only a thin surface, like paper, and it was king singed away. And behind it was a cold blackness; and it was not Heaven or even Hel1 that I was looking at, but only emptiness. This was more frightening than anything 1 could think of, and 1prayed silently to God to forgive my sins; but what if there was no God to forgive me? And then 1 reflected that perhaps it was the outer darkness, with the wailing and the gnashing of teeth, where God was not. And as soon as 1had this thought, the sky closed over agnin, like water after you have thrown a Stone; and was smooth again and unbroken, and filled with stm. (Alias Grace 335)

Atwoodis clearly rnaking areference to Gnosticism here: Grace's maturing awareness of the

universe as a closed system essentially repeats an image of the Gnostic cosmos, "[. . .]

deprived of its supreme divinity [. . .] a confined space, beyond which there was another

world [. . .] the world of light [that] was the world of freedom" (Rossbach 53-4). As such,

those such as Hans Jonas ponder "[. ..] with what feeling gnostic men [and women] mut

have looked up to the starry sy';

How evil its brilliance must have looked to them, how alarming its vastness and the rigid immutability of its courses, how cmel its muteness! The music of the sphere was no longer heard, and the admiration for the perfect sphericai fonn gave place to the terror of so much perfection directed at the enslavement of man. The pious wonderment with which earlier man had looked up to the higher regions of the universe became a feeling of oppression by the iron vadt which keeps man exiled hmhis home beyond. [. ..] [And yet,] the total gnostic view is neither pessimistic nor optimistic, but eschatological: if the world is bad, there is the goodness of the outer-worldly God; if the world is a prison, there is an alternative to it; if man is a prisoner of the world, there is a salvation to it and a power that saves. It is in this eschatologicd tension, in the polarity of world and God, that the gnostic cosmos assumes its religious quality. (Jonas 26 1)

What seems important here is Atwood's parailel between what Grace views as the terror of the night sky above her, and the sphere of fixed stars often thought in Gnosticism to be "the wall that demarcated the cosmos as a prison [. ..] the extreme opposite of everything that is divine" (Rossbach 54). Such an image sustains a reversal established earlier in the nove! between physicd prisons and spirirual ones. Furthemore, combined wih the novel's concluding image of her revised Tnnity, Grace's identification of this structure - while bnef here -extends what, until this point, has ken a very localized recognition or application of

Gnostic concepts. Indeed, Frye's "temr" landscape, first seen in the passage from "Grace,"

has been replaced at this point in the novel by a fonn of "terror" cosmic landscape often

associated with the Gnostics' conception of the "outer darkness."

At the outset, then, it can be argued that Atwood's use of Gnostic myth in Alias

Grace serves the notable purpses: fmt, it provides a spiritual counterpoint to what

Atwood recognizes as ongoing discussions of The iJnconscious in rnid-nineteenth century

medicine; second, it promotes a secret doctrine, allowing Grace to subvert others'

conclusions about hercharacter; andthird, it attempts to redeem the ferninine under the Holy

Trinity -presumably to secure Atwood's Grace aretuni of sorts to her divine ongins. Of this

last subject in particular, June Singer iafonns us that traditional forms of Christianity are decidedly guarded. Normally, she States, "the Trinity consists of a Father, Son, and Holy

Notable for its absence is a fourth element, which could be matter, the feminine pnnciple, or the demonic element. Gnosticism takes al1 four into account. It restores matters to a vitally important place in the visible world; redeems the ferninine pcinciple, in the image of Sophia; and recognizes the presence of the demonic, in the form of the archons [. . .] [which] represent the non-creative powers in this world, who must be recognized for what they are andconfronteddirectly [. ..]. Christianity [also] regards as a high virtue the lmitatio Dei, the imitation of God, with the words, "Be ye perfect." Not sr, in Gnosticism, where what is sought is not perfection, but wholeness [. ..]. [found through] the mystical rnaniage between the Christ or Logos figure and the Sophia or Eros figure. [. . .]mer the Gnostic [this] union is to be realized [in part] [. , .] in the individual person. This involves the recognition of the dark side within oneself and in the world, and a willingness to face up to it [. . -1. [Moreover,] to approach wholeness, the gnostic ritual seeks the "bringing together of the fragments" [. ..]. (Seeing Through the Visible World 101-2)

Here, we find in Singer's words what Atwood herself has hinted at al1 dong: that constmcting one's self is very much like writing back to the self of another, or writing historical fiction for that matter- it is the bringing together of many fngments. Moreover, the Gnostics' "recognition of the dark side within oneself*is also suggestive of Jung's

"shadow," or moral problem. "To become c~nsciousof it," he writes, "involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and red. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowiedge, and it therefore, as a de,mets with considerable resistance"

(Stein 95).

And so, returning to Atwood's comment in "Naturd Born Quilter" that "the fullness of Grace is the point," what the author really seems to allude to here is a more specific understanding of wholeness belonging to the Gnostics. For "the Fullness of the Gnostics," we are told, "is without qualities in and of itseif, yet it contains the potentials for al1 that is, has ken, and will be" (93). Taken more liberally, we find that

[blefore the cosmos, there was a divine sphere of unifonnity and light, called the pleroma, the 'fullness' of God. The divine world is understood as an extension and actualisation of the nature ofGoci. Its powers are called aeons and represent the various levels of being in the divine world. Aeonic speculation is a haiimark of 'Gnostic' systems. Although there is some variation with regard to the number, gender, narnes and ranks of the aeons, it is usually the female sophia, Wisdom, who is the last and least of them. She is often the one who disturbs the calrnness of the pleroma and becomes the cause of the great cosrnic tragedy. Human beings are mtedas part of the cosmos; they are created by the same demiurge who created the world. However, as part of a divine scheme to restore the original pre-cosmic state of perfection, they were given a divine spark, a flash of the divine light or substance, the pneuma, which renders them superior to their creator. Although their temporary 'home' is the cosmos, they belong to the divine world, the pleroma. (Rossbach 50-1)

Restoring the ferninine element and the divine spark here allows Atwood an opportunity in

Alias Grace to reclaim this "fullness," then; to subvert the patriarchai systems that have condemned Grace fiom within, by offering the chance at redemption that the earthly world has denied her. This would seem to make sense, and Atwood herself certainly seems to be aware of the benefits this ideology allows her. R.M.Grant explains that "the first and most important point in defining Gnosticism [is that] it is a religion of saving knowledge, recognition of the divine element which constitutes the true self' (10). And yet what becomes clear here also is that the path to achieving this awareness is not an easy one.

Elaine Pagels, for instance, echoes Jung's eariier statement when she wntes that: "[. . .] gnostics acknowledged that pursuing gnosis engages each person in a solitary, difficult process, as one struggles against internai resistance [. ..] the desire to sleep or to be dmnk

- that is, to remain unconscious" (126). Grace too is aware of this, and in the novel the distinction between those who achieve gnosis and those who fail by choosing to reside in ignorance, is accomplished most viscerally through Atwood's juxtaposition of Grace and

Simon; the latter of whom- as I've said - retains the potential for that sarne self-awareness, but whose sexuai tryst with his landlady, Rachel Humphrey, renders him forgetful of al1 that

Grace has told him.

Northrop Frye once wrote that "[. ..] if anything historically truc is in the Bible, it is there not because it is historically me but for different reasons. The reasons have presumably something to do with spiritual profundity or signi ficance" (The Great Code 40).

In many ways, the sarne could be said of Alias Grace. Atwood's (and Grace's) attempts to redeem the feminine here - to reunite the latter with her divine origin - rests largely on

Grace's ability to position her story as an alternate, though not entirely dissirnilar, variation of an old myth. "The Gospel According to Grace," as 1 have called it, is exactly that. It is a üuth based on observation; and yet, it conveys a sense of belonging as well: a becoming of textual authenticity and authority previously unknown to her. The objective of that gospel, it would seem, is the freedom from judgment under conventional morality, allowing women such as Grace "release from the world itself, a world of material existence [but only if she] practice[s] a rigid asceticism so that [her] spirit will not be defiled by the material world and its pleasures." Returning, then, to to the issue of standard images featured in Grace's story,

Robert A. Segal clarifies the foundation hm, explaining that

Gnostics espouse a radical, irreconcilable dualism composed of immateriality, seen as divine and wholly good, and of matter, considered wholly evil. Most notable here:] the pdicament is that pieces or sparks of immateriality have fallen into matter: human souls are trapped in bodies [. . -1. Because the spark is not merely tmpped, but hidden, Liberaiion requires the revelation of one's divinity. Salvation for the individuai means the extrication of the spark from the body and the retum to its immaterial home. Salvation for the cosmos means the return of al1 sparks. The aim is to terminate any connection between immateriaiity and matter.

For Grace Marks, this understanding of her origins, brought to her as divine revelation by the

aiready-discussedJeremiah the Peddler, constitutes the former's awareness of self and place.

So, how exactly does Grace achieve the creation of her gospel? As stated above, among the

primarycharacteristicsof the Gnostics include the belief in knowiedge to be his or her saving

grace, so to speak. Grace's tale is a highly-stylized, and codified, transmission of that

knowledge. From the onset of her journey at the novel's beginning, we are led along this

path of discovery; the road of which is filled with Atwood's appropriation of Gnostic

influences. One of the first examples of this arrives shortly after the death of her mother.

Plagued by the guilt that her mother's spirit is somehow "trapped in the bottom of the ship

because [they] could not open a window [. ..]," Grace imagines "[ that S]he would be caught

in there forever and ever, down below in the hold like a moth in a bottle [and] sailing back

and forth across the hideous dark ocean" (122); but aiso, that "there was something dreadful

about it, to picture her floating down in a white sheet among ai1 the staring fish. It was worse

than king put into the earth, because if a person is in the earth, at least you know where they

are" (121). Emphasizing this scene's place within the Gnostic perspective, Hans Jonas offers

us an insightful way of reading this scene. "The sea or waters," he tells us, "is a standing

Gnostic symbol for the world of matter or of darkness into which the divine has sunk" (Jonas

117). By fearing for the captivity of her mother's spirit in the bowets of the ship, then, Gnce

is actuaiiy concemed that the former is king prevented hmrejoining the divine above.

This "turbid water", hecontinues, is "water of the Abyss [or Chaos] [. ..] the original matter of the world of darkness with which the living water mingled" (99). For Grace, the event provides a moment of recognition, for "[a] sea voyage and a prison may be God's reminder to us that we are al1 flesh, and that al1 flesh is grass, and alI flesh is weak. Or so 1choose to believe" (Alias Grace 117).

When Mary prophecizes Grace's future in the apple peelings - particularly, that the latter would pass over water three tirnes during her life (a prediction Iater fulfilled in the novel) - and for this, it is likely that Atwood is ceferring here to what Gnostics refer to as

'The Myth of the Going-forth." The taie is one that

was common to a number of schools, but Hippolytus ascribes it to an otherwise unknown school called the Pentae, supposed to mean Tnnscendentalists, or those who by means of the Gnosis had "passed beyond" or "crossed over." Thus then they explained the Exodus-myth. Egypt is the body; al1 those who identify themselves with the body are the ignorant, the Egyptians. To "corne forth" out of Egypt is to leave the body; and to pass through the Red Sea is to cross over the ocean of generation, the animal and sensuai nature, which is hidden within the blood [. . .] [and eventually, they] enter the Promised Land, the realm of the spiritual mind [. .-1. (Mead 185-6)

By leaving behind ignorance, and the animal side of one's nature, it is assumed that Grace enters the Promiseci Land by the conclusion of the novel. And yet, Atwood does not offer a resolution that is clean. Of her new home near Ithaca, New York at the novel's end, Grace informs readers that "[tlhis is like Heaven. Although Heaven was not a place 1ever used to think of myself as gooing" (Alias Grace 453), and indeed, we too are uncertain as to whether she is truly saved or not. Notably, we find that her fate, as she comes to understand it, may be either a blessing or a curse: she feels as though she rnight be pregnant, but "it might as easily be a turnour," she tells us, 'Tor aithough there is a heaviness, I've had no sickness in the mornings" (459). Before exploring the signiftcance of this Mer,however, it is usefui 89 to understand how Grace is able to arrive there, and the steps that must be taken to keep her newfound faith a secret. Specifically, we find that Grace's relationship to gnosis, or saving

knowledge, foms the basis for both her own perspective and for the relationships she develops with the inventedcharactersaround her. most notably, her admiration for the divine

spark as revealed to her by Jeremiah, and her contempt for those around her who dwell in a

state of ignorance.

As Hans Jonas States in The Gnostic Religion, "[fJor more than one kason, not the

least of which was the mention of 'knowledge,' [thisj biblical tale exerted a strong attraction

upon the Gnostics" (93). Rather than the traditional Christian view of the serpent, a tempter

who led Eve and Adam to first eat of the Tree of Knowledge and defy God, it was the serpent

who, for many Gnostics, was responsible for giving man knowledge of his divine origins.

Certainly, a regard for the serpent is present in Alias Grace. In the final chapter, entitled

'The Tree of Paradise," Grace is found to be making a quilt for herself, and when deciding

the form it will take, she explains that "1 intend to put a border of snakes entwined; they will

look like vines or just a cable pattern to others, as 1 will make the eyes very small, but they

will be snakes to me; as without a snake or two, the main part of the story would be missing"

(459-60). The story, of course, is the story of Genesis; only, it is a Gnostic re-telling of

Genesis. The significance of this is revealed in part when one considers that only in

Gnosticism is there one unitedconcept of good and evil; and, moreover, it is only this system

of thought which affirms the importance of the serpent-tempter as the provider of

kn~wledge.~~ 90

When Simon Jordan asks Grace about the apple he offers to her, Atwood is very cautious about the handling of this scene; for aithough Grace would indeed be tempted by such an item, its significance here lies in the allusion Atwood is making to a forbidden object: a hidden knowledge -of which Gmce remarks that:

1 am so thirsty the apple looks to me like a big round drop of water, cool and red. I could drink it down in one gulp. 1hesitate, but then 1think, There's nothing bad in an apple, and so 1 take it. 1 haven't had an apple of my own in a long time [. - -1. 1 stand holding the apple in both hands. It feels precious, like a heavy treasure. 1 lift it up and smell it. It has such an odour of outdoors on it 1want to cry [. ..]. The tnith is 1don? want hirn watching me while 1eat. 1 don't want him to see my hunger. If you have a need and they find it out, they will use it against you. (39-40)

Later, after asked by Simon if there is a kind of apple one shouid not eat, Gmce is quick to

"give [her] stupid look," before acknowledging to the reader: 'The apple of the Tree of

Knowledge, is what he means. Good and evil. Any child could guess it. But 1 will not

oblige [. . .]. 1 look at him. 1 look away. 1 look at him again. 1 hold the apple in my two

hands. He waits. Findly, 1 lift the apple up and press it to my forehead" (40,42). The

temptation in this scene -and more importantly, Gmce's desire not to show her temptation

- pcoves crucial to our understanding of her position. Hers is a religion of saivation, yet to

reveaI the knowledge she possesses would be to risk that saivation. Indeed, it is not until she

is safely acmss the waters at the end of the novel, leaving behind what Mary and Jeremiah

have taught her is a world of ignorance and distrust, that we first begin to see her relax her

vigilance against those who once posed a threat of further persecution.

Atwood, here, is reflecting a more historicai tmth: an erasure of knowledge which led

to the necessity of self-preservation arnong the Gnostics; pacticularly with respect to the

continued teachings of that knowledge. Retrospectively, June Singer tells us that [. ..] al1 that we knew about Gnosiicism was what we had learned from texts - most of them Christian -denouncing these sects as heretical. Since gnostic writings often took positions at variance with the developing Christian tradition, as well as the earlier Judaic tradition, they were treated as gross heresies.

[Consequently] [. . .] rather than risk having their books burned or, still worse, having their authors bmed, the Gnostics learned to keep themselves out of view, and their books remained for the most part secret doctrines, imparted only to those who had been initiated into this special Company. (87)

Here, we find that the need for secrecy was vital to the continuation of the gnostic tradition; and dually, that "[s]ecrecy becomes the key to the superiority of these Gnostics over the archons as well as over the ignorant part of rnankind - for only they possessed the secret

knowledge necessary in order to not miss salvation" (58). For those like Grace and Jeremiah,

knowledge is imparted only to those identified as belonging to the spiritual elite, for they alone hold a matured understanding of their place within the cosmos, and the tools by which

they might complete the Gnostics' conception of "wholeness."

What 1haven 't discussed to this point ,however - and therefore, what 1have chosen

to end my discussion with here - is Atwood's treatment of the murders themselves in Alias

Grace. While 1 maintain my original contention that the novel's approach to the murder is

less consequential than the events or machinations transpiring around it, it does seem

necessary to address its place within the novel's greater structure. Certainly, the author does

not ailow for easy conclusions to be drawn. She does, however, hint at possibilities which

- despite their inconclusive nature -ultimately serve the novel's refusal to make a judgment.

If Grace did not participate in the murders, then everyîhing 1have discussed holds true: like

"Susannah and the Elders," Grace has been falsely accused by her male peers for betnying

a sociaüy-constxucted ideal. Yet, if she did take part in the crimes, Atwood offers her an escape hem also. Such actions, she suggests, would belong to a woman of an unsound minci: something hinted at - but never fully answered - in Jerome DuPont's seance, and by the intemal "Mary Whitney9*and "Nancy Montgomery" personalities of whom Grace seems to be aware. What seems more likely, however, is that the murder does fit within the Gnostic stnicture I've identified within the novel. Just as Gnosticism promotes one's self-acceptance of both the good and evil side of one's nature as one of the final acts toward achieving gnosis, so too rnight the Kinnear-Montgomery murders in the novel be read as crimes of necessity; perpetrated, paradoxically, to allow Grace to achieve a form of final, ultimate

knowledge of that which resides within her: herawareness, for instance, of a hand that "was

not mine at dl, but only a husk or skin, with inside it another hand growing" (Alias Gmce

"You see what queer ideas a person can get," Grace tells us, adding: "but 1was only

a young girl zit the time, and very ignorant" (Alias Grace 122). Indeed, this would seem an

apt statement for much of the novel: the distinction between "pre-" and "post" States as they

relate to knowledge, history, the Fall, imprisonment, and similady, redemption. One of

Grace's final conclusions - told after the murders - finds her asking:

[. ..] why did 1need to pmy, when God was right there, hovering above us like the Angel of Death over the Egyptians, 1 could feel his cold breath, 1 could hear the beating of his dark wings, inside my heart. God is everywhere, 1 thought, so God is in the kitchen, and God is in Nancy, and God is in McDermott, and in McDermott's hands, and God is in the axe tw. Then 1hearda du11 sound from within, like a heavy dwr closing shut [. . .]. (317).

The door, Atwood suggests, is the dwr of memory: now an inability (or an unwiiiingness)

to return to a previous state of knowledge or ignorance; astate paralleled medically, we read, 93 by the possibility of a psychologicai break from what came before. As readers, the allusion is clear. "Here we are," Atwood tells us, "right back at the twentieth century, with our own uneasiness about the tnistworthiness of memory, the reiiability of story, and the continuity of tirne" ("'In Search of Alias Grace" 1515). And as before, the question remains the same:

"Where do we go from here?" VI

Conclusion (luice-Crossed Waters) When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at ail, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and ail aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at ail. When you are telling it, to yourself or someone else. (Alias Grace 298) %

To answer this question: "Where do we go hmhere?', 1retum to the issues which originally informed my discussion. Several times throughout this essay 1have cited Margaret

Atwood's "In Search of Alias Grace" for the insight it provides into the evolution and direction of historical novels in Canada. We find in the author's approach to Grace Marks a clever and subversive means for underscoring women's histones through the use of a specifically non-canonical framework, reminding us that "[. . .] the authors of [historical narratives] are individuals" (1510), and that "1. . .] each novel has its own preoccupations."

Gnosticism provides a timely and suitable vehicle for this; and indeed, Atwood seems to be attracted to those literatures; presumably because narratives such as Grace's, "insofar as it is private and self-directed, [are] the instrument of a self-contemplation [and] [. . .] necessiirily 'gnostic"' (Humphries 7). Ultimately, it communicates little to the good of the community, or to a greater cause, but rather, focuses solely on the needs of the individual.

For this reason, Gnosticism has tmditionally ken viewed as a "selfish" religion - both in content and in principle - even though authors such as Atwood do not appropriate it for explicitly selfish acts. Instead, women such as Gmce Marks, she suggests, are drawn to

Gnosticism because it appIies meaning to everyday history: it makes its home in the individual.

Taking us back to the beginning - to the original Creation myth - seems inevitiible, and perhaps even essential, to the use of that structure, then. William Blake once wrote that

"D]oth read the Bible, &y and night; but you read black where 1read white" (Hoeller); and indeed, one might say that Atwood's Grace embodies this sentiment. Her approach to the

Bible is that of acritic; a person familiar with patrïarchal agendas and the tools of narrative construction. The distinction made between her reading of Genesis and that of the more orthodox community is an important one, because it helps to explain some crucial questions.

Indeed, Grace's view of the serpent in relation to knowledge is vastly different fiom the other characters in the novel: through the Gnostic perspective, her place within that myth is as a participant in a divine drama: a series of nmtive acts chronicling the Fa11 and redemption of man, fulfilled when she joins the Unknown God beyond the outer darhess. Reading it as such, the patriarchal forces which seek to define and contain her as a this-worldly

"history" lose importance. Indeed, Stephan A. Hoeller tells us that

[tlhe orthodox view [. . .] regarded most of the Bible, particularly Genesis as history with a moral. Adam and Eve were considered to be historicai figures, the Iiteral ancestors of our species. From the story of their transgression, orthodox teachers deduced specific moral consequences, chiefly the 'fall' of the human race due to original sin. Anoiher consequence was the lowly and moral ambivdent status of women, who were regarded as Eve's CO-conspiratorsin the fateful deed of disobedience in paradise.

[. ..] The Gnostic Christians who authored the Nag Hamrnadi scriptures did not read history with a moral, but as myth with meaning. To them, Adam and Eve were not historical figures, but representatives of two intrapsychic principles within every human being. Adam was the drmatic embodiment of psyche, or soul, while Eve stood for the pneuma, or spirit. Soul, to the Gnostics, meant the embodirnent of the emotional and thinking functions of the personality, while spirit represented the human capacity for spiritual consciousness. The former was the lesser self (the ego of depth psychology), the latter the transcendental function, or the 'higher self,' as it is sometimes known. Obviously, Eve, then, is by nature superior to Adam, rather than his inferior, as implied by orthodoxy.

As 1have discussed, Atwood's explorations of the above in relation to Biblical construction become an apt metaphor in the novel - and in life - for the often difficult assemblies of

"canonicai" history. For someone such as Grace Marks, who is both condemned andor excluded from those assemblages - physicaiiy, spirituaiiy, and textually - Gnosticism becomes a very attractive ideology.

As a language through which to work, Grace's is symbolically-charged and laden

with hidden meaning, effectively bluning the boundacy between "historical narrative" and

"gospel." The effect is such that the reader is reminded of Atwood's play here with notions

of textual authority, and of the utterance in speech. "In the courtroom, every word that came

out of my mouth was as if bumt into the paper they were writing it on," Grace tells us (Alias

Grace 68-9);

and once 1 said a thing 1 knew 1could never get the words back; only they were the wrong words, because whatever 1 said would be twisted around, even if it was the plain ùuth in the first place [. . .]. But now 1 feel as if everything 1 Say is right.

It is right, of course, because the language is more favorable to her circumstances. June

Singer explains it by noting that

Gnostic writing is surely ahistoricai: it has nothing to do with people who ever lived in this worldor with events that have any historical redity. But it has a psychological vaiidity, in that it cornes from the soul or psyche of the human king, and is expressed in the language of the collective soul, or the collective unconscious as Jung would Say - a language that finds its way to us through myth and metaphor. (Singer 99)

Under this system, Grace's re-telling of the events leading to the Kinnear-Montgomery

murders functions not as a means of historicizing the event, but of mythologizing it: of

positionhg it outside traditional forms of narration. This is, we read, why Grace's tale is at

times puzzling to Simon Jordan. It is because he does not have the tools to understand the

dominant patterns of symbois.

This is a particularly important consideration when pondering why the author likely

chose Gnosticism to frame the novel. Aside hmthe more obvious feminist advantages, historicaily, it seeks to rewrite, or to re-create. While one aspect of Gnosticism stresses the importance of the individual, and of self-contemplation, it is at the same time necessarily involved - even if peripherally - with greater evenis. 1 am referring here to those such as

Hans Jonas, who assert that

[. . .] gnosis is not a mere passive devotion to mythicai themes. put mther,] [b]y knowing humanity's history, the knowing penon is directly and prominentiy involved in the drarnathat is the history of hurnankind. The theoretical appropriation of the myth is already the practical suspension of its contents. Each act of individual enlightenment foms an immediate contribution to the restoration of divine fullness. Thecefore, the myth incorporates the knower's presence, his knowing, into the myth. The narration of the myth ends with an individual becoming aware of his divine origin. Hence, it ends with the myth becoming known and then continues as the history of the knower, who is on his [or her] route towards certain salvation. (Rossbach 56)

By conflating myth anqhistory, Margaret Atwood locates in Alias Grace a circular, self- creating narrative of both Genesis and saivation. The narrative itself - which comprises the

novel, is ironicaily what we may read as one of the tools by which Grace is presumably -

though not definitively - saved by the novel's conclusion. It is an open system,

accommodating and incorporating those experiences as each new king passes the threshold

of knowing, or gnosis.

To bring us back to the crime, however, Atwood wonders: "[. . .] is it not, today - well, somehow unferninist - to depict a woman behaving badly?"

Isn't bad behavior supposed to be the monopoly of men? Isn't that what we are expected - in defiance of real Me -to somehow believe now? When bad wornen get into literature, what are they doing thete, and are they permissible, and what, if anything, do we need them for? (Atwood, "Spotty-Handed Viliainesses")

But we do need hem, 1 wouid argue. Like Atwood's answer to the question - that "we do

need something like them [. . .] something disruptive to static order" - it would seem that 100 women such as Grace Marks embody the best and the worst of what Canadian literature - and history - have to offet: the potential for constnicting or deconstructing representations of women behaving badly. To explore those histories seems necessary, even prudent; and moreover, in Canadian fiction these efforts would seem a timely venture; for "[tlhe past no longer belongs to those who once lived it," Atwood tells us ("In Search of Alias Grace"). hstead, "[tlhe past &longs to those whoclaim it, and are willing to explore it, and to infuse it with new meaning for those who are still alive today. The piut belongs to us, because we are the ones who need it." Notes

1. Northrop Frye, The Bush Garden: Essays on the CadiUn Imaginntion (Toronto: Anansi, 1971) 225.

2.1 am ihinking hmof Hutcheon's discussion aôout the institution of litenture; a spnce "[+ . .] of writers and naders, producers and receivers of texts, and dso of the bbc~unisrantidIydenseinterchange' between them an interchange that has social, historical. and ideologicd dimensions" (The Canadian Possmodem 73).

3. Full Me: "In Semh of Alias Grace: On Writing Canadian Historical Fiction." In rhis essay - origindly delivedat the Bronfm Lecture, Onawa, in November 19%-Atwoodcomments on rherise of theCanadian histocicd novel. while sharingalso heruwn experiencesand observations of thegenreas she wuwriting Alias Grace.

4.1 should noie here ihat Jonathan Spence does concede in his essay, "Margarei Atwood and the Edges of History," that historians too "my dnw conclusions that mequivident to filling gaps"; or laier, "myjuxtapose pieces of information in such a way as to embue them with new me;wings(' At the hem of his argument, howew- and the reason for his inclusion here - is his daim that "the historian ems the right to beiu a kind of witness, io speak with grenter authrity thnn others" about the pst (1523-4).

5. Judith Knelrnan explains that in mal life, Grace did not deny king a witness to Kinnear's murder, but insisted that her involvernent was the result ofcoercion by [Jamesl McDermott. And yet, Nancy was found wilh Gme's scuf dmwn tightiy around her neck; and JmWelch. a neighbor, claimed that Grace acted suspiciously that evening when he iuked where Nancy wu (Tan We Believ~.!'680).

6. 1 am indebted to Matguet Atwood for her kind permission to include both The Semunt Girl ("Cirace Marks") and ''Gr&' in my research; and to Edna Hajd at the University of Toronto's Thomas Fisher Rare Book ïibrary for mnging to have copies of both works sent to me.

7. Recenciy, Atwood haobserved that "[fjor each story, there was a teller. but -as is me of ail stories -here was also an audience; both were influenced by the received climates of opinions, about politics, and also about criminality and its proper treamnt, about the nature of women - theù weakness and seductive qualities, for insiance -and about insanity [. ..]." ("ln Search of Alias Crace" 15 15)

8. Atwd is refhng here to William Harrison Ainsworth, a nineteenth-cenhuy British author of populiu historid romances. The connection she dnws io Mooâie is likely on account of Ainsworth's appoinunent to Editor of Richiud Bendey's Miscellany in 1839, under whom Susmna Moodie was ais0 publishing. It is likely, then, rbat Moodie would have been familiar with Ainsworth's witings.

9. It is amusing. and perhaps wonhy of note here that Atwood plays with Moadie's aiieged name-change strategy in Alias Grace. In oscene neu the novei's opening, her Gmeis reading scnpbooks and finds a poem signed "Yoür loving 'Nancy, ' Humah Edmondr" (Alias Grace 26).

LO. 1am refeming here to Faith's exiunïiüuion of the rekl woman; "[. . .I the defiant woman who rejects authority [. ..] the unmanageable woman who daims her own body, the whore. the waaion wom[. . -1 [she] who lacks the resowces to wrap herseif in the cloak of middle-class femininity*'(1). It is interesting that Unruly Womm made its appearance in 1993. Known in Cnminology circles. this study of female criminaiity and its associatecl representations would have made valuable reading materid for Atwood during the time of Alias Grace's conception. My thanks to hiessur John Whatley for drawing my attention to chis wok 11. Karlene Faith. Unruly Women: The Politics ofConfinement and Resistance (Vancouver. BC: Press Gang Publishers) 24-9,

12. George Eliot's (Marian Evans), The Mill on the Floss (Edinburgh: W.Blackwood, 1860).

13. My thanks to Professor Sandra Djwa for noticing the similarities between the public's reception of Paul Berndo and Kacla Homolka's relationship, and that of Grace Marks and James McDemtt's.

14. For further reading, see: Arnold E. Davidson and Cathy N. Davidson, The An of Margaret Anvood: Essuys in Critichm (Toronto: Anansi, 1981) and Lorraine M. York, ed.. Vanous Anvoods (Concord, Ont.: Uouse of Anansi Press, 1995).

15. Stefan Rossbach's Gnostic Wars: The Cold Warin the Contew of a History of Western SpiRIualify offers an ambitious. and very useful, deconstruction of some of the major issues inherent to Gnostic studies; and, in pnrticulw, re-evduates Hans Jonas's seminal work The Gnostic Religion with respect to new directions of study and unanswered questions in Jonas's framework.

16. G.R.S. Mead, Fragments of a Faith Forgonen (New York: University Books, 1960) 285-97; 50.54.

17. Full title: "'The Casket of T~th':the Social Significance of Susanna Moodie's Spiritual Dilemmas." In this article - useful to the Moodie enthusiast - John Thurston traces the various spiritual dabblings of both Mdieand her husband in relation to their respective choices of litenry endeavors at varying points in their lives, and speculares as to why those lemings might have been attractive.

18.1 ;un generalizing here somewhat, of course, for the purposes of clarity. The Apocrypha's collection of many texts contains a viuiety of texts which mention Mary. Though 1risk homogenizing them here, 1 do so for the purpose of clarity, and to emphasize their desas non-canonicd texts.

19. See: Hans Jonas, The Gnostic Religion (Boston: Beacon Press, 1963) 283; and G.R.S. Mead, Fragments oja Faith Forgonen (New York: University Books, 1960) 285-7.

20. Valentinus was an influentid leader in Gnostic thought during the second century. See: G.R.S. Mead, Fragments of a Faith Forgonen (New York: University Books, 1960) 285.

21. It is important to note that the Gnostics were not unanimous in affirming women. Indeed, cenain Gnostic texts speakof the ferninine with contempt, aithough typicdly in reference not to women themselves, but nther, the power of sexuality (Pagels 66).

22. A greater discussion of psychothenpy as it relates to religion and Gnosticism cm be found in the proceeding chapter on Simon Jordan,

23. The paralle1 between physicai and spirituai confinement is fust made during Gnce's voyage to Canada in the novel; repeated throughout the novel as an unsettling though of her rnother's and Mary's spirits king etemally trapped; for Mary, in the mmwhere shedied; and for Gme's mther's, in the huii of the boat itself).

24. G.R.S. Mead, Fragments of a Faith Forgonen (New York. University Books. 1960) 183-8. Works Cited

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